


Pistols & Petticoats

by oceans_blue8



Series: Pistols & Petticoats [1]
Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lesbian Relationship, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Slow Burn, Wild West AU, but hang in there because i promise they fall in love eventually, when i say slow burn i mean slooooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23801449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans_blue8/pseuds/oceans_blue8
Summary: The year is 1869, and Sheriff Jane Rizzoli has a lot on her plate. Between wrangling her loose cannon of a brother and fending off the constant stream of suitors her mother keeps sending her way, she's hardly had time to deal with her most pressing problem: the disappearance of several young women in Echo Station, the town she's supposed to protect.Enter Dr. Maura Isles, the new town physician fresh out of medical school in Boston. Though Maura and Jane seem to be opposites in every possible way, the two quickly forge an intimate partnership that has all sorts of rumors flying...Could Maura be the key to solving Echo Station's mysterious disappearances? And will Maura and Jane ever admit to themselves that they want to be more than just colleagues?A (semi-historically accurate) Wild West/Gold Rush AU.
Relationships: Maura Isles & Jane Rizzoli, Maura Isles/Jane Rizzoli
Series: Pistols & Petticoats [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798807
Comments: 130
Kudos: 186





	1. pass the potatoes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Welcome to the Rizzoli & Isles Wild West AU that no one asked for... I was in the mood to write some historical fiction, so y'all are getting this.  
> A note on historical accuracy: I've taken a few major liberties, but (shocker) most of this is relatively historically accurate! I am now absolutely full of fun facts. For example: did you know that the first woman to earn a medical degree in the United States was Elizabeth Blackwell, who did so in 1849? Now you do.  
> There were no female sheriffs in the 1800s, but I wanted to see Jane kick ass with a gun, so we are choosing to ignore that. And my version of the Gold Rush is going to be considerably gayer than real life. Also, no one in this fic talks like they would have in the 1860s because I was not about to subject y'all (or myself) to that pain. You're welcome.  
> This first chapter is kinda exposition-y, but we'll get into the good stuff soon enough. :) I hope you enjoy, and please leave me a comment letting me know what you think!

Hoofbeats echo rhythmically off the walls of the canyon as Jane urges her horse into a gallop, closing in even closer to the outlaw ahead of her. Nothing can stop her—bullets ricochet off the red rock, but Jane doesn’t even blink. Still at a gallop, she ducks, pulls out her own pistol with her left hand and fires a round at the rider in front of her.

It’s a hit! Jane always _has_ been rather skillful with a pistol, if she does say so herself. She sees the man’s frame tumble off his horse, feeling satisfied at the plume of dust that billows up as his body hits the ground. His horse thunders away down the canyon, and as she draws up beside the body, Jane can see—

“Jane, dear, would you mind passing the potatoes?”

The voice of Angela Rizzoli shattered Jane’s fantasy, bringing her back to the very mundane sight in front of her: family dinner at the Rizzoli house. It was a depressing change of scenery, at least compared to Jane’s vivid daydream. Instead of atop her majestic steed, she sat with her rear end planted firmly in an uncomfortable wooden chair, pulled up to the old table her father had built when Jane was a little girl. It was covered with their finest red-checked tablecloth, and honestly, Jane was surprised it hadn’t collapsed under the weight of the many dishes spread out across it. Her mother always cooked enough food to feed a small army, and tonight was no exception. Potatoes and carrots sat next to a basket of sourdough bread and, of course, the roast chicken that Jane’s brother Frankie had beheaded in the garden behind the house earlier that day. It was a fancier spread than usual, probably because they had a guest tonight: Giovanni Gilberti, local blacksmith and colossal pain in Jane’s ass.

Angela was looking at Jane expectantly, hand outstretched and waiting. Jane suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, instead opting to bite the inside of her cheek in annoyance as she handed the dish to her mother.

“Now, Jane, I was just telling Mr. Gilberti here _allll_ about what wonderful embroidery work you do.” She gave Jane a pointed look. “Maybe you could make him a handkerchief.”

First off, that was a complete lie. Jane _hated_ embroidery, and she was no good at it besides. The only reason her mother had taught her in the first place was because apparently embroidery was a ‘marketable skill’; unfortunately for Jane, shooting bad guys was not. But even if she had been good at embroidery, Jane would never have made anything for Giovanni. She simply found him generally repulsive, a sentiment which she knew she shouldn’t express out loud. But Jane had never been particularly good at keeping her mouth shut.

“God, Ma, I’m the sheriff,” she said, stabbing a potato on her plate with more force than was probably necessary. “I don’t have _time_ to be making handkerchiefs for every man you throw at me.”

“You mustn’t listen to her, dear,” Angela said to Giovanni. “Jane may _run her mouth_ —” she punctuated these words with a cross stare at Jane when she thought their guest wasn’t looking “—but she’s really a very nice young lady underneath it all.”

Jane really did roll her eyes in response to that. “Giovanni, I’m not interested in marrying you. Ma, I’m done with my food. I’m going out.”

She pushed back her chair, wincing at the sound of the wooden legs grating against the floor. Ignoring Giovanni’s puppy-dog eyes and Frankie’s desperate _you-can’t-leave-me-with-them_ face, she gave a sarcastic little wave at her mother and turned toward the door.

“Jane! Jane Clementine Rizzoli, you sit back down this instant!” her mother said, but Jane was already gone.

As soon as she was outside, she breathed in the fresh air with a sigh of relief. Jane loved her mother deep down, but _god_ , that woman could be annoying—especially when she was presenting Jane with one of her many suitors. Lord only knew there were enough eligible young men in Echo Station and, indeed, in the entirety of California; most of the people who’d chosen to move out West were men, after all. But Jane had always been too interested in horseback rides and shootouts to pay much serious attention to them.

Jane pulled the pins out of her hair, running her fingers through the dark waves until they cascaded down around her shoulders. Now all she had to do was get out of this damned dress and she’d finally start feeling like herself again. She hoisted the blue skirts (Angela had wanted pink, but Jane had at least managed to talk her out of that) up around her knees, revealing sturdy boots underneath. Her mother forced her into a dress for every Sunday dinner, but Jane drew the line at the shoes. A girl had to be able to walk, didn’t she? And if she got called out on a job, well, it didn’t hurt to be at least a little prepared.

It wasn’t a long walk to Jane’s house, a modest white cabin near the river. Everything in Echo Station was close by; a few rings of houses surrounded the main street, with its little row of town buildings. There was a church, a post office, the miners’ union building, a number of saloons. At the end of the street stood the jail, where Jane had her office, and beyond that were the river and the entrance to the mine, where the men (and a few women, too) spent their days panning and digging for gold. As far as Jane saw it, it was a foolhardy endeavor; how many people really made their fortune that way, anyway? But the improbability of it hadn’t stopped more and more people from flocking westward to little towns like Echo Station all across the state.

Jane changed quickly, dropping her skirts in a crumpled pile on the floor in favor of her sheriff’s uniform. It was the same as the men wore—she’d made sure of that when she’d been appointed. Navy jacket, white button-down shirt, and the best thing of all: pants. Angela’s eyes had just about popped out of her skull when she’d seen her daughter in that uniform for the first time, which had only confirmed to Jane that it had been the right decision. Now, standing in her room, Jane straightened the sheriff’s badge pinned to her left lapel and grinned at herself in the little mirror she had propped up on top of her dresser. Much better.

It was time to pay a visit to an old friend.

*

Vincent Korsak lived on the edge of town. When they’d first met, years ago now, Jane had asked why he didn’t live in the town proper; his answer had been to lead her out back of his house, where a large fenced pasture stretched back into the hills. As it had turned out, Korsak was a veritable zookeeper—his pasture was populated with everything from stray cats to horses and even a little fox he’d rescued when its mother had been killed in a storm. He’d never had kids, though he’d been married (it was a sore subject, he’d told Jane when she’d asked), and so he’d adopted a zoo’s worth of animals instead.

Jane knocked on his door only to be greeted with a flurry of barks from the other side and the sound of Korsak telling them all to _get down, it’s only Jane_. He was a little disheveled when he opened the door just a crack, blocking the dogs from getting out. Jane couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“I thought you only had four dogs.”

“Yeah, well, Barney Miller here needed a home,” he said, eyes crinkling up at the edges. “Who was I to refuse?”

“You old softie,” Jane said, shaking her head with an expression somewhere between exasperation and affection. Ignoring the animals milling around at her feet, she squeezed past the mass of dogs and into Korsak’s house. “So. About this new doctor.”

“Getting right down to business, I see.”

“I’ve already made enough small talk tonight to last a lifetime.” Jane grimaced. “Ma invited _Giovanni_ to dinner.”

“The blacksmith’s son?” When Jane nodded, Korsak’s face screwed up in sympathy. “You look like you could use a drink.”

“Beer?”

“Only got whiskey.”

“That’s fine.”

Korsak led her through the front room and into the kitchen. He walked with a slight limp—seeing it, Jane’s stomach twisted up into a little knot. Korsak had said he didn’t blame her for it, but Jane would always feel responsible. She doubted the guilt would ever really fade.

Jane settled herself onto one of the stools at Korsak’s kitchen table, waiting until he sat down opposite her and slid a bottle of whiskey across the table. She drank straight from the bottle before passing it back to Korsak, who was regarding her with an amused expression.

“What?” Her brown eyes flashed with a challenge.

“Nothing.”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Jane rolled her eyes. “You’re just as bad as my mother, you know that?”

“What? I didn’t say anything,” Korsak protested, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Yeah, but you _thought_ it.” Widening her eyes and putting on a faux-offended look, Jane gave her best imitation of her mother’s voice. “ _For goodness’ sake, Jane! Can’t you at least_ try _to be ladylike?_ ”

Korsak let out a guffaw. “She’s not that bad, Jane. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, and what’s best is to pawn me off to the next eligible young man she happens to lay eyes on,” Jane muttered. “No, thank you. I have a job to do. Speaking of which…”

“Dr. Isles.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve already told you what I know. He’s due to arrive tomorrow evening.”

“From Boston? That’s a long trip,” Jane commented. “And he comes highly recommended?”

Korsak nodded. “By Cavanaugh, a colleague of mine back in the city.”

“Good enough for me. Can I see the letter he sent?”

Korsak shuffled in his pocket for a moment before producing a slightly crumpled envelope and handing it to Jane.

She took it with a murmur of thanks, slipping the letter out of the envelope and unfolding the paper to scan its contents. The words were written in black ink, each letter carefully inscribed in a graceful, almost feminine cursive. The stationery was a creamy white color despite the wrinkled state of the envelope; even with her lack of knowledge on the subject, Jane guessed that it must have been quite expensive. She let her eyes flicker over the words:

_15 May 1869_

_Dear Sheriff Korsak,_

_I would be pleased to accept the invitation to practice in your quaint town of Echo Station. It has been one of my longtime aspirations to travel to the West; I have done much research into the conditions in California, and I believe I will be well-suited to the position of town physician._

_I have made travel arrangements via the newly-completed Pacific Railroad and plan to arrive at the station in Aurora on the sixteenth of July, although, as I am sure you are aware, I may encounter a delay of up to twenty-four hours in Omaha. It would be much appreciated if you would send a representative to guide me back to town, as I am unfamiliar with the area beyond my extensive study of the available maps. (Unfortunately, relatively few maps exist of the area. Perhaps I could help to rectify that problem in my leisure time—I did take a few courses in cartography during my undergraduate years.)_

_I look forward to making your acquaintance._

_Cordially,_

_M. Isles, M.D._

“Well, he certainly seems capable enough. If a little long-winded,” Jane laughed, taking another swig of whiskey. “Think he’ll be surprised to see me?”

“A female sheriff? Everyone is surprised by you, Jane.” Korsak’s tone softened. “I couldn’t have picked anyone better to replace me. You’re doing a fantastic job.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to all those girls who’ve gone missing,” Jane muttered, kicking at the table leg with the scuffed toe of one of her boots. “I bet _they_ don’t think I’m doing such a fine job.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Easier said than done.” Jane bit her lip. “If Hoyt would just _say_ something, then maybe—”

“Forget about Hoyt,” Korsak interrupted. “He’s a scumbag, and most importantly, he’s in lock-up. He can’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s just the thing, I swear to _god_ it’s him.” She paused. “Korsak, trust me, I’m aware you think I’m crazy for thinking it, but…”

“I know you don’t want to hear it again, Jane, but maybe it really isn’t him this time,” Korsak said, expression verging on concern. Pity, almost. “Hoyt hits too close to home for you.”

“And what, he doesn’t for you?” She couldn’t help the snappiness of her tone; there was nothing Jane hated more than being vulnerable. And sitting here, discussing the man who had made her life a living hell, she felt more defenseless than she had in a long time.

“It’s different for me. Less personal. You know it is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jane said abruptly, pushing back the stool so hard it almost toppled over behind her. “I should go. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow.”

“Good luck, Jane.” Korsak hesitated. “Be careful, alright?”

She turned back toward him, already halfway out the door, and flashed him one of her trademark, confident-bordering-on-cocky smiles. “Now, where would be the fun in that?”

*

Jane was awake the next morning before the sun had risen. Though she wasn’t a habitually early riser, there was something about that time of day that brought a sense of inner peace to her. Maybe it was the utter stillness of everything—the way the only sound was the wind at the top of the pine trees, absent of any human interference. Or maybe she just liked the coolness of the air before the day’s warmth hit; the nights were cold in Echo Station, and it had been known to frost overnight even in the summer. The chill reminded her of winters back in Boston, where she’d been born.

It was the middle of July now, though, and the frost had been banished for another few weeks at least. Dewdrops hung from every blade of grass; the blades shivered and rustled as Jane walked through them, sliding over the slick leather of her boots and dampening the hem of her pants. She carried saddle bags filled with provisions for the day, with extra room for anything her future traveling companion would need to bring back. Her trusty pistol hung at her hip, as it always did.

Her horse, Jo Friday, was waiting for her in the stable. She was a beautiful dun mare, tall and proud, with a wild light in her eyes to match that of her rider. Jo had been one of Korsak’s rescues; he’d told Jane she’d probably been discovered as a sickly little mustang foal somewhere out in the Nevada desert. Some miner had broken her and brought her down to the gold mines in California before she wound up abandoned. Korsak, bleeding heart that he was, had taken her in; Jane had fallen in love with her, and the rest was history.

There was something in Jo that never really had been broken, though. Jane could see it in the graceful way she moved, in the way she was never spooked but stayed relentlessly steady even in the face of danger. Jo had seen her fair share of shootouts during Jane’s tenure as a deputy; now that Jane was officially sheriff of Echo Station, she would no doubt see more. And she’d never balked once.

“Morning, beautiful girl,” Jane murmured, giving the horse a hearty pat on the shoulder.

In the faint light of the early morning, Jane’s hands performed the tasks she and Jo would need to prepare for the day’s journey. The motions were instinctual to her; she ran brushes over smooth fur, tightened leather straps and adjusted blankets without thinking. By the time the edges of the sky had blushed to a shade of pale pink, Jane was leading her horse out of the stable and swinging herself up and into the saddle.

The road to Aurora was a pleasant one, not particularly treacherous at this time of year. Still, the trail was narrow and often studded with chunks of rock—grey granite, the little shards of mica glittering in the dappled sunlight that slanted down through the trees. The terrain was hilly, but the weather was nice, and Jane trusted Jo Friday completely. They stopped a few times throughout the day, most often for the horse to drink, but by the time the warm afternoon sun was beaming down, they were riding into town.

Jane didn’t know when she’d started thinking of Aurora as the “big city.” It was certainly tiny compared to any of the cities on the East Coast; compared to Echo Station, however, Aurora felt enormous. People had flocked there once construction on the Pacific Railroad had begun, and seeing it in person for the first time since it had been completed, Jane could understand why.

Buildings rose proudly around the railroad tracks, which glittered under the sun. The train must have already departed—Jane felt a little pang of disappointment at having missed what would have surely been a majestic sight—but there were people milling about the platform. Men embraced their wives, finally reunited; young would-be fortune seekers stood idly, as if unsure what to do next; porters shouted out offers to load trunks and transport them to the local boardinghouses. Jane scanned the scene with an appraising eye from her view atop Jo Friday’s back, wondering which of the men was the one she’d come looking for.

It was not readily apparent which one of them was Dr. Isles. With a sigh, Jane dismounted, leading Friday over to the hitching rail in front of the station. She unbound the saddle bags with practiced ease, slinging them over her shoulder. Things had a certain habit of disappearing around any mining town; Jane had never had anything stolen to date, and she wasn’t about to start now. Hopefully it wouldn’t take more than a minute or two to find this mystery doctor.

She could feel the curious stares on her as she walked up the platform. Women were certainly a little more rough-and-tumble in the West, but Jane was unusual even among them. She was no barmaid or boardinghouse owner, and she was certainly no saloon girl. And while Jane wore men’s clothes, she didn’t feel the need to disguise the fact that she was a woman; her hair hung in a long braid down her back, but even without that, her feminine features would have been a dead giveaway. Some men made rude comments, but most took back their words as soon as she fixed them with one of her steely glares that said, _I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it_.

The platform was already beginning to empty out as the passengers collected their things and rushed off, probably into one of the many saloons that lined the street. Some men would no doubt be heading to the red-light district north of town; Jane could pick them out by the lurch in their steps and the glint in their eyes. It appeared a good number of them had already had their fill of whiskey.

There was no sign of the good doctor. All the likely-seeming candidates had either left the platform or were bunched up in groups, having met the men and women waiting for them in Aurora. The only passenger who sat alone was at the far end of the platform, perched atop her own traveling trunk as if waiting for someone. Well, there was as good a place to start as any; maybe she’d be able to direct Jane to the man she was looking for.

Jane’s eyes flickered over the woman as she approached, analyzing her and taking in every detail. It was a habit she had picked up from working in law enforcement, and one she doubted she’d ever be able to shake. Even from far away, she could tell that the woman was sophisticated; her posture was almost regal, and she was dressed in an elaborate lavender dress with far too many ruffles for Jane’s taste (well, if she was being honest, no dress was to Jane’s taste). Jane didn’t know much about fashion, but it looked to be of the latest style, something a city woman of high society might wear. The conclusion was obvious: this woman was wealthy, probably from a prestigious family back East. What reason would she have for coming West?

“You alright here by yourself?” Jane asked bluntly as soon as she was within earshot.

The woman blinked, almost as if startled out of a daydream. Up close, she was even more elegant than Jane had expected—every hair was perfectly coiffed despite what must’ve been several long days of train travel, and her hazel eyes glittered with a faraway intelligence. Something about her made Jane’s stomach drop a little; maybe it was only that she was so refreshingly different from anyone Jane had seen in a long time, but there was something about the spark in her eyes and the curve of her lips that was immediately intriguing.

The woman smiled, soft and maybe a little hesitant. “Yes, I’m just waiting for somebody.”

Jane nodded. “Me too.” She stuck out her hand, and the woman took it and shook. “I’m Jane.”

“Maura,” she said warmly.

“So, Maura,” Jane said, “ever been to California?”

Maura laughed. “Of course not! It’s far too long of a trip, and much too expensive, unless one intends to stay permanently.”

“Didn’t think you were from around here.” Jane gave her a wry smile. “No offense, but you stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Jane chuckled, then raised an eyebrow when Maura’s wide-eyed expression didn’t change. “Oh. You’re not joking.”

“Do all the women here wear trousers, then?” Maura asked, and Jane shook her head.

“No, just me. I like to be able to ride.”

“Oh, but you can ride with a dress! There are a variety of strategies, as well as the Jules Pellier design for—”

Jane held up a hand. “You sound just like my mother. Trust me, it’s my choice. Can’t do the kind of work I do while wearing a dress.”

“And what kind of work might that be, if you don’t mind my inquiring?”

Jane grinned, pleased that she’d asked. “I’m the sheriff of Echo Station, a little town about thirty miles from here.”

“Echo Station?”

“That’s the one.”

“What a coincidence! I’m supposed to take a position there.”

“A position?” Jane gave her a strange look as her brain pieced together the puzzle. She somehow couldn’t picture this refined woman doing laundry or working as a barmaid, but there _was_ one other position in town that came to mind—and that letter had been signed _M_. Isles. Could it be…?

“Yes, I was informed they needed a physician there,” Maura said calmly; either she hadn’t seen the way Jane was looking at her as though she’d grown a second head, or she just didn’t care.

“ _You’re_ Dr. Isles?”

Maura had a slight smile on her lips, almost hinting at a smirk. “You weren’t expecting me to be a woman, were you?”

Jane was speechless for a moment before stammering, “No, no, it’s—”

“Well,” Maura interjected, a teasing look in her eye, “I wasn’t expecting a female sheriff, either.”

“No one does, I’m the first.” She couldn’t help the note of pride that crept into her voice.

“What happened to Sheriff Korsak?”

Jane grimaced. “He was injured in an… accident, about three months ago. So I took over. I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Maura nodded, then got to her feet and turned to face Jane. Her long skirts swished around her ankles, kicking up a slight cloud of dust, but she didn’t seem to notice. “All right, then. Where to next?”

“Well, we’ll be staying at one of the local boardinghouses for the night,” Jane said, leaning down and grasping the handles of Maura’s trunk with both hands. “My mother is friends with the owner, and it’s too far to go back to Echo Station tonight anyway.” She tugged on the trunk, only to find it wouldn’t budge. “Jesus, what on earth have you got in here?”

“Calico bandages, forceps, splints, syringes, chloroform for anesthetic purposes,” Maura supplied, a look on her face as though she was seriously considering listing all of the contents before Jane rolled her eyes. Maura stopped abruptly, then frowned and added, “Oh, and books.”

“It’s the damn books,” Jane muttered under her breath, giving up on her futile attempt to lift the trunk by herself. “C’mon, give me a hand here.”

Maura stepped delicately to the other side of the trunk, each of them taking one side of the bulky object and lifting it. It was cumbersome work, but they were making slow and steady progress down the platform when a young porter called out to them.

“You ladies need any help with that?”

“Sure, that would—” Maura started, just as Jane snapped at the man.

“Back off, we’ve got it handled.”

“—be lovely,” Maura finished with a sympathetic grimace, giving the young man a little wave as he wandered off before turning to give Jane a _look_ that instantly reminded her of her mother. “ _Jane_ , really, he was only trying to offer some assistance.”

Jane gritted her teeth. “Well, we don’t need it.”

“Men aren’t all bad.”

“I know.”

“Really?” Maura looked doubtful.

“Yes, _really_ ,” Jane huffed. They’d finally gotten the trunk back to where Jo Friday was tethered to the hitching rail; Jane let her side of it fall to the ground with a heavy thud before slinging the saddle bags off her shoulders and across the horse’s back. “Some can be veeeery nice, actually, if you know what I mean.”

Maura’s eyes widened. “Is that really what it’s like out West?”

“Oh, yeah, the men out here are _completely_ uncivilized.” Noticing Maura’s blank look, Jane shook her head and laughed. “I’m kidding. Mostly. You’re not a saloon girl, you should be fine if you’re careful. Although there’s no shortage of men looking for wives—just ask my mother, she manages to invite a different eligible young bachelor to dinner every Sunday. I didn’t know we even _had_ that many men in Echo Station!”

“She wants you to marry?”

“Yeah.”

“And don’t you want to?”

Jane was busy reattaching the saddle bags, but she stopped to fix Maura with an intense stare at those words. “They say the laws here are different, that women are independent, that we can own our own property and make our own decisions. But marriage is just as much of a prison in California as it is everywhere else.” She paused, considering her next words carefully. “There are men I’ve met and really liked. But none of them have ever understood why I do what I do. They’re either threatened by me or worried for me, and I can’t stand either of those things. So I chose to marry the law instead.”

Maura was quiet for a long moment; even looking away, eyes fixed back on the leather straps of the saddle in front of her, Jane could feel those inquisitive hazel eyes lingering on her back. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, being watched by Maura. She got the sense that the doctor was analyzing her much as Jane had done when she’d first approached her on the platform—a gaze of curiosity, not malice.

“I understand,” Maura said at last, and somehow Jane felt that she really did. “Everyone thought I was foolish to go to medical school, but I cannot imagine my life without it.”

Jane gave her a crooked grin, pleased when Maura returned it with a shy smile of her own. “Guess we make a good match, then—Sheriff Rizzoli and Doctor Isles.”


	2. a real western welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it really be a Rizzoli & Isles fanfic if they didn't share a bed? I think not.  
> Thanks for all your comments on the last chapter, they are much appreciated! Hope you enjoy this one as well. :) Let me know your thoughts.

“I thought we could go out tonight,” Jane was saying, “give you the full Western experience. What do you say?”

“What?” It took Maura’s brain a moment to catch up before she pasted a smile onto her face and nodded. “Oh. Yes, that’d be lovely.”

It had been a long day of travel, and although sitting on a train wasn’t physically taxing, Maura felt mentally exhausted. The trip from Boston had taken eight days; Maura had gotten through all the novels she’d brought along after just three. With nothing left to do but stare out at flat plains and scrubby bushes for hours and hours, her eyes had felt as though they were about to drop out of her head by the time California—and the merciful sight of trees—had replaced the monotony of the Nevada desert.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna change into something a little more casual?” Jane asked, gesturing at her outfit.

Maura looked down, frowning a little. It was true that her dress was much more formal than she supposed was customary—she’d made sure to observe the pedestrians on the street while they’d walked to the boardinghouse, hoping she would be able to pick up some of the local customs just by watching. The women’s clothes were roughly made, in drab colors; though Maura’s finer sensibilities told her to wrinkle up her nose at their attire, deep down she knew that it was important to make the right impression. Despite her own confidence in her abilities, she was well aware that she would have to prove herself to the people here. Especially the men. And that started by fitting in.

“You can borrow something of mine if you want,” Jane volunteered, reading Maura’s silence as hesitation. “Lucky for you, I brought along a dress. My mother made me.”

She didn’t wait for Maura to agree; Jane began rummaging around in the saddle bags, which she’d propped against the far wall of the boardinghouse room as soon as they’d come in. Maura’s trunk sat open next to them, exposing a neatly-packed row of books. She’d packed light, relatively speaking; somehow she’d managed to cram all of her clothing and some essential medical supplies into one large trunk. Any remaining space had been filled with books—everything from medical textbooks to a weighty almanac to novels for leisure reading. The satchel she’d carried was stuffed full, too; Maura had had an extensive library back at home, and she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of leaving all those volumes behind.

“Here you go,” Jane said, finally producing a mass of fabric and holding it out for Maura to take.

Maura shook it out, holding the dress in front of her so she could have a closer look. It was a practical dress in a faded, blue-patterned fabric. The style was austere, as though whoever had sewn it had done so in an attempt to abandon femininity as much as possible. It had Jane Rizzoli written all over it; still, when Maura tried to imagine the leggy, wild-eyed sheriff actually wearing the dress, she found that it made a rather laughable mental image.

Jane frowned, looking at Maura with a calculating gaze. “On second thought, I don’t think it quite suits you. What you’re wearing is a tad… fancy, but it’ll work. C’mon, let’s go.”

Maura let Jane take her by the hand, leading her out and into the hall of the boardinghouse. Jane locked the door to their room, slipping the key into one of the pockets on her uniform before turning back to Maura to give her an adventurous grin. Maura couldn’t help but smile back—she was usually reserved around new people, but there was something infectious in Jane’s enthusiasm. Well, not _infectious_ , that had too much of a negative connotation. Contagious? No, that was no good either… Maura gave up on trying to find a proper synonym and let herself take in her new surroundings.

It was a dusky twilight by the time they emerged from the boardinghouse and walked down the street. Tall trees—most likely pines and oaks, although Maura wasn’t one to guess until she’d examined them in detail—stood silhouetted against the fading pinks and oranges of the setting sun. Rolling hills rose up around them, cradling the town of Aurora within their tree-covered slopes; Maura could almost picture the snow-blanketed crests and peaks of the Sierra Nevada rising to unfathomable heights to the east of them.

Crickets chirped, and Maura thought she could hear frogs singing, which meant there must be water nearby. The sound of raucous laughter burst through the doors of the various establishments lining the street, and hoofbeats trod lightly across packed earth. A scent of dust hung in the warm summer air, which was without the slightest hint of humidity—something Maura wasn’t at all used to. For a brief moment she regretted not bringing along a hygrometer; it certainly would have made for an interesting comparative study of atmospheric humidity between the coasts.

“Did you know,” she said, almost absentmindedly, “that the hygrometer was invented in the mid fifteenth century by Nicholas of Cusa? He is said to have based his designs on those of Leonardo da Vinci, although da Vinci—”

She broke off when she noticed the way Jane was staring at her—a mixture of confusion and perhaps a little bit of judgement.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to bore you.”

“Nah, you’re fine.” Jane laughed, giving her a look that suggested she was analyzing Maura. “What on earth made you think of that?”

“Oh.” Maura blinked, feeling a little relieved that Jane wasn’t upset. She was used to people making fun of her for it, but somehow she could still never stop her mouth from spouting random facts at any given time. “Well, I was just thinking that the air is much less humid here than it is in Boston. Naturally, I thought it would make for an interesting comparison to measure the difference, and the tool used for taking such measurements is known as a hygrometer. Unfortunately, I neglected to bring any meteorological instruments in my trunk.”

“What a goddamn shame,” Jane said. There was a sparkle in her eyes that made Maura wonder if she was teasing, but the fond quirk to Jane’s lips told her that even if she was, it was good-natured. “Guess you learn something new every day. Now c’mon, genius, let’s go.”

Lost in thought, Maura hadn’t realized that they’d reached Jane’s saloon of choice—a large white building that was helpfully labeled the “Goldfield Saloon.” Jane had opened one of the swinging doors, gesturing for Maura to go inside.

“Ladies first.”

“But you’re a lady too—” Maura started, only to be cut off as Jane gave her a hefty push between the shoulder blades and she stumbled through the doors.

No one turned to look at her ungraceful entrance; the patrons inside, mostly men, were far too busy with card games, conversation, and, of course, booze. They were gathered in groups around tables or at the bar, sipping liquor from glasses and downing tankards of beer. A few women dressed in provocative clothing sauntered between tables, delivering beverages and batting their eyelashes at the more handsome guests.

Jane had appeared at her side, arms crossed over her chest and a look of unadulterated delight on her face as she studied Maura’s reaction. “So?”

“It’s very… quaint,” Maura managed, and Jane let out a guffaw, slapping her lightly on the back before taking her elbow and guiding her over to a table in the far corner.

“Come on, over this way.”

Once they’d gotten settled—which took considerably longer for Maura and her copious layers of skirts—Jane waved over one of the women working in the saloon. She was a petite girl, probably in her early twenties, with curly blonde hair and the wide blue eyes of a porcelain doll, and she smiled broadly at both Jane and Maura as she approached. Her dress was simpler than the others’ and much less revealing; Maura wondered why.

“Is that _the_ Jane Rizzoli I see, or do I need ta pinch myself?”

“The one and only.” Jane leaned over and gave the newcomer a quick peck on the cheek in greeting before she turned back to Maura. “This is Clara. Clara, this is Dr. Isles, Echo Station’s new town physician. She just arrived from Boston this evening.”

Clara’s eyes momentarily widened, but if she was surprised at Maura’s occupation, she chose not to comment. “Delighted ta meet ya, Dr. Isles. Welcome ta the West!”

“Thank you.” Maura smiled.

“So, Janie, how long're ya gonna be in Aurora? Gonna stop by the Wild Rose and pay us a visit?”

The way Clara phrased that last bit made it sound clandestine; Maura wondered what the Wild Rose might be. Something illegal? But she didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Besides, Jane didn’t seem the least bit fazed, and she was an officer of the law.

“Not this time, sorry,” she said. “I’m just here to pick up Mau—Dr. Isles. We’re leaving for Echo Station in the morning.”

“What a shame. You’ll just have ta come through next time, hmm?” Clara winked at Jane before giving the both of them another warm smile. “Now, can I get ya anything? On the house, of course. Pop’s outta town right now, but he’ll understand. Y’all are like family.”

Jane grinned. “Two beers, thanks. And tell your pop I said hello when he’s back.”

“Comin’ right up,” Clara said, leaving the two of them alone at the table.

“How do you know her?” Maura asked as soon as she’d gone, unable to rein in her curiosity.

“She’s a family friend.” Jane was twiddling with the hem of her shirtsleeve, avoiding Maura’s eyes.

“And what’s the Wild Rose?”

“Just another saloon on the north end of town.”

From Jane’s tone of voice and lack of eye contact, Maura could tell that there was more to it than that, but she didn’t get the chance to pry. Clara had returned, slamming two tankards of beer down on their table with a practiced thud that sent the liquid sloshing against the sides without _quite_ spilling over the edges.

“Drink up, ladies!” she said, giving Jane’s shoulder an affectionate pat. “Lovely ta meet ya, Dr. Isles. And don’t forget ta come and see me when you’re in Aurora again, Janie.”

“Yeah, of course.”

And then, with a sunny smile and a parting kiss blown at Jane, she was gone again.

“Well, she’s quite the character,” Maura laughed, hoping to inject a little lightheartedness into the mood.

Jane nodded, taking a long swallow of her beer, and then gestured for Maura to try hers. “You heard what Clara said. Drink up!”

Maura regarded the liquid with distaste. “I… don’t really drink beer.”

“You do now,” Jane declared. “Come on, let’s have a toast.”

Reaching out, Maura took the handle of her beer tankard, lifting it and gingerly moving it to meet Jane’s over the middle of the table. Jane did so with considerably more gusto, clanking the two glasses together with a resounding clatter.

“To new beginnings,” Maura said.

“To badass women,” Jane added, bringing her glass to her lips before setting it back on the table. She watched Maura. “Well, what’re you waiting for?”

Maura took a hesitant sip of the beer and found it to be surprisingly tolerable. It wasn’t as good as the wines she was accustomed to drinking, but maybe it was something she could get used to. “I have to say, I am pleasantly surprised.”

Jane snorted. “Told you.”

They sat in silence—well, relative silence, considering they were in the middle of a crowded saloon—for a few moments before the sound of a stringed instrument resonated across the room (Maura wasn’t sure if it was a mandolin or a banjo—that warranted further inspection). Jane’s head snapped to the right, following the sound. Maura could see the change come over Jane’s face immediately: her brown eyes lit up, and a slight smile flickered across her lips before she turned to Maura.

“Are you ready for a real Western welcome?” she asked, holding out a hand.

“Oh, I really don’t dance,” Maura tried, but Jane wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Come on! Unless you’d rather one of _them_ ask you, of course.” Jane cast a disgusted glare around the room, eyes flickering over the various men stationed at tables and chairs across the establishment. Maura hated to admit it, but Jane was right—with their overly-long facial hair and various states of (poor) hygiene, none of them were at all appealing to her.

“Won’t the men be angry? I mean, we _are_ two eligible young women. And biologically speaking, there is a drive for men to pursue suitable mates to initiate close physical contact. Dancing would constitute the perfect opportunity, and the female to male ratio of this establishment is quite low.”

Jane shrugged. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about what other people think. So?”

“Well, I suppose just once dance couldn’t hurt,” she acquiesced, accepting Jane’s hand and getting to her feet.

Jane led them over to the dance floor, where a variety of other couples were gathering. A few men had managed to get the barmaids to dance with them; the rest simply danced with other men in place of women. The atmosphere was merry—even on a Monday night, it seemed that these men and women were up for a rousing good time. Maura found it a little intimidating, but mostly the whole thing was refreshing in its novelty. The East Coast was nothing like this; everyone was so formal there, Maura’s family especially. This moment, with the sound of the banjo (mandolin?) ringing in her ears and Jane’s hand clasping her own, was everything she’d dreamed of when she’d written to Sheriff Korsak accepting this position.

“Just follow my lead,” Jane said as the music picked up. Maura could hear the sound of a violin—she’d read that they were called fiddles when playing the sort of folk music she heard now—in addition to the other stringed instrument, which she could now clearly see was indeed a banjo. Jane had settled one hand on her waist and the other clasped with Maura’s out in front of them, leading the way.

At first, Maura was stiff, focusing all her energy on placing each foot with rhythm and precision. But after a while, she let herself relax, trusting Jane to guide her through the movements. There didn’t seem to be much choreography; it was freeing, in a way, to just go where the music drifted, so unlike the fancy ballroom parties Maura was accustomed to at home. Other couples swirled around them, marked by the occasional _swish_ of skirts when a saloon girl drifted by and the far more common _thump_ of the miners’ heavy-duty boots against the wooden floorboards.

Jane’s hand was warm on her waist, even through the heavy layers of Maura’s dress. Her grasp was confident, and Maura was surprised to find that she felt completely safe in the arms of this relative stranger. Staring into Jane’s eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill of electricity shoot through her, and maybe Jane felt it too, because she smiled back at Maura with an undefinable look in her eyes. A strand of dark hair had fallen out of Jane’s braid and into her face; almost tenderly, without thinking too hard about what she was doing, Maura reached out and brushed it back behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she almost thought she felt Jane lean into the gentle touch.

The spell was shattered by the appearance of a dark-haired youth at Maura’s side, pulling her back to reality.

“May I cut in?” he asked, tipping his hat to Maura. She opened her mouth to respond when—

“You may _not_ ,” Jane said decisively. Her hand around Maura’s waist tightened, pulling her closer in an almost possessive movement. 

The man raised his hands, scowling. “It ain’t right that you two broads are dancing together when there’re nice men out here lookin’ for a lady.”

Maura could feel Jane tense as if about to spring at him; squeezing Jane’s hand, she turned to the man with a polite smile. “Neither of us has any intention of going home with you tonight, sir, so I doubt our company would be very pleasurable to you. Have a lovely evening.”

The man looked taken aback by Maura’s calm demeanor. He opened his mouth again, but one more glare from Jane sent him scurrying. 

As he walked away, Maura called after him, “And the word is _isn’t._ Not ain’t!”

Jane chuckled, looking at her with bemusement. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What?” Maura blinked.

“You just _had_ to correct his grammar.”

“Well, he was being rude!”

*

Maura’s head was swirling by the time they returned to the boardinghouse, stumbling through the doors and throwing themselves down onto the bed while giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. It was a pleasantly floaty feeling—Maura wasn’t sure whether the intoxication was a result of the alcohol she had ingested or the headiness of the summer air, but she let herself lean into the feeling. She hadn’t felt so free in such a long time.

Flushed and warm from all the dancing, she rolled over on her side to regard Jane. The dark-haired woman was still looking up at the ceiling, her long limbs sprawled out across the mattress and chest shaking with tremors of laughter. She had very nice features—quite symmetrical. Maura told herself she was making that particular observation out of pure scientific inquiry (symmetrical faces _were_ the most attractive—that was simply a fact), not because she personally appreciated Jane’s features any more than it would be proper for her to admire a woman she’d only just become acquainted with.

Maura was staring so intently that it took her a moment to notice Jane peering back at her with a curious expression, eyebrows scrunched down pensively and a slight curve to her lips that told Maura she was probably about to make a teasing remark.

Sure enough—“Enjoying the view?” Jane laughed, that curve in her lips growing into a full-blown smirk that caused Maura to blush slightly and look away, trying to hide her own smile.

“I’m simply tired,” she demurred. “It’s been a long day—a long several days, to be more accurate.”

It wasn’t technically a lie—just an evasion. Maura generally didn’t have any reason to be dishonest, but in the instances where it was necessary, she was accustomed to dealing in half-truths. There was no discernable scientific explanation for Maura’s allergy to falsehood (well, not yet—she had half a mind to study the phenomenon herself), but it remained an incontrovertible fact of her existence.

“I hope I haven’t worn you out too much.” Was that concern on Jane’s face?

“No!” Maura was quick to reassure her. “It’s been a lovely evening. I’m glad we went out.”

_I hope we’ll have the opportunity to dance again in the future_ , Maura wanted to add, but didn’t. Jane was a lovely person, but mightn’t this all be out of obligation? Surely as sheriff she had a certain responsibility to make Maura feel welcome; they would probably work together in a professional capacity, but Maura told herself not to expect more than that.

She wasn’t used to having close friends, and for the most part, that didn’t particularly bother her. Even from a young age, Maura had known there was something different about her. She’d seen it in the other children’s smirks when she raised her hand to answer yet another question in class, heard it in the snide whispers behind her back, but she’d chosen to make it a point of pride rather than shame. Quite frankly, she’d preferred the company of a good novel over that of the other girls in her all-female preparatory school, who spent the majority of their time gossiping over which handsome boy they hoped would invite them to the school promenade. College had been somewhat better, but she hadn’t kept in touch with any of the women she’d befriended there.

And things had only gotten worse in medical school, where she had been the only woman in her class; the men had either hated her or condescended to her in a (futile) effort to court her. Maura wasn’t sure which was worse. Regardless, it had meant that her medical education had been a rather lonely two years; though Maura was by nature inclined to prefer solitude, isolation had grown tiresome even for her after a while.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Refocusing her gaze on Jane, Maura let out a little sigh of air. “Just reflecting on what’s to come.”

Jane nodded knowingly, reaching out a hand and resting it on Maura’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I’m sure it’s a lot to get used to.”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be better once you get settled in back in town. Speaking of which, it’ll be about an eight-hour ride tomorrow, if we make good time. We should get an early start. And you’ll need a horse of your own. Jo Friday is strong, but not enough to carry both of us all day.”

“Oh, I’ve arranged that already,” Maura said. “I wrote to a man here in Aurora in May, when I accepted Korsak’s offer.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises.” Jane grinned. “Alright, then. I’ll wake you up in the morning after I’ve saddled Friday and packed the saddlebags, and we can pick up your horse and be on our way.”

“Can’t I help you with the packing?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

Jane nodded in confirmation before propping herself up on her elbow. The little strand of hair that had escaped earlier fell back into her eyes again; Maura was once again tempted to brush it back out of Jane’s face, but she resisted the urge. That seemed too intimate somehow. It had probably been overstepping even back in the saloon, although Jane hadn’t seemed to mind, and in fact Maura had thought—but there she went with her thoughts running away again. She spent too much time caught up in her own mind.

In the time that Maura had spent staring off into space, Jane had managed to cross to the other side of the room and shimmy out of her clothing and into a ruffled white blouse and what Maura could best describe as bloomers. The ensemble looked oddly feminine on her compared to her day clothes, with a few too many lace edges for Jane to have picked it out herself.

“Ma insisted on the ruffles,” Jane said by way of explanation, grimacing slightly.

“Very stylish.” Maura’s eyes sparkled with amusement before it dawned on her that she would also need to change her clothing. She could hardly stop herself from letting out an audible groan of displeasure at the thought—Maura’s evening routine was quite the process, having to take off all the layers she piled on every morning. Heaving herself up off the bed with a resigned sigh, she retrieved her nightgown from where it had been carefully folded in her trunk, laying it out on the bed before turning back to Jane.

“Would you mind undoing the buttons on my dress?” she asked, then immediately wondered if that was too presumptuous of her. “Only if it’s no trouble. I could do it myself if—”

Thankfully, Jane saved her from herself before the rambling got too far. “Sure.”

Back turned, Maura couldn’t help the little shock of energy that went through her at the first brush of Jane’s fingers against the nape of her neck, undoing the top button. Her touches were light and much gentler than Maura had expected—part of her had thought that Jane might manhandle the buttons in the same brash manner she seemed to approach everything else in her life, but her hands were soft against Maura’s back.

When all the buttons had been undone, Maura let the smooth lavender fabric of the bodice pool around her waist. She was still facing away from Jane, but she found herself aware of just how close the other woman was standing—and with Maura only in her corset! Maura wasn’t shy; she had studied anatomy, after all. The human body was nothing more than a skeletal frame wrapped in layers of muscles, controlled by tendons and held together by ligaments—all of which Maura could recite by heart. There was nothing awkward about bodies; it was simple science.

So why did her heart feel as though it was about to beat out of her chest?

_Tachycardia,_ she thought, running through the information to calm herself. _A relatively new medical term. From the Greek tachy, “swift,” and kardia, “heart.” Definition: an abnormally fast heart rate, in excess of one hundred beats per minute. Caused by—_

“Want me to get the corset too?”

_—caused by Jane Rizzoli offering to take off your corset._

Maura nodded, hoping Jane couldn’t feel the hitch in her breath when her fingers brushed over Maura’s skin before untying the bow at the top of her corset. Though she wore a chemise underneath, the moment felt more intimate than Maura had expected. She almost felt as though she should say something, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the silence until Jane had finished with the corset.

“Thank you,” was all she could manage, glad Jane could not see her face; she would have surely inquired about the blush on Maura’s cheeks, and Maura wasn’t sure any amount of truth-bending could have saved her from that.

“Anytime.” Jane shrugged. “Have you got the rest of it by yourself, or do you need me to—”

“No! I can handle it,” Maura practically yelped, feeling a little bad when Jane took a large step back.

In an effort to calm herself, Maura focused her attention on the crinoline, which held up her skirt; soon enough she’d managed to detach the strap and step out of the skirts only slightly ungracefully. Stealing a quick glance at Jane (who was steadfastly gazing at the wall) out of the corner of her eye, Maura yanked the chemise up and over her head and then donned the nightgown.

“You can look now.”

Jane turned back around. “How on earth can you stand all those layers?”

Standing in the middle of her pile of skirts, corset and chemise thrown haphazardly down on the bed, Maura couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m very accustomed to it.”

“Well, you’re out West now. You don’t have to wear those things anymore.”

“I know,” Maura said, “but I like them. They make me feel beautiful.”

Jane snorted. “As if you wouldn’t be beautiful no matter what you wore.”

Maura couldn’t help but blush at those words; Jane’s tone had been so matter of fact, and the level gaze with which she fixed Maura now was completely nonchalant, betraying nothing. Maybe Maura was overthinking this; she had a tendency for introspection to the point of anxiety. She could go over conversations for hours in her head, analyzing every word and grammatical error for hidden meaning.

“Well, thank you,” Maura managed at last, unsure of how this woman was so able to fluster her with only a few words and a glance. It was disarming, though somehow not entirely unwelcome.

Jane only nodded, standing up and rummaging around in her saddle bags. Absentmindedly, Maura’s hands moved of their own accord, folding various articles of clothing and stashing them on top of the rest of the clothing and supplies in her trunk. Her eyes followed Jane’s movements as the sheriff finally found what she was looking for in the (presumably disorganized, judging from how long it had taken) saddle bags. Pulling out a thick woolen blanket, Jane unfolded it and laid it down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Maura frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making a bed,” Jane said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well, yes, I see that, but… why?”

“I thought I’d leave you the actual bed.” Once again, Jane was giving her a fondly exasperated look that clearly said, _how dense are you?_

“That’s silly,” Maura said briskly. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

Jane looked at her doubtfully. “I’m taller than you. I take up more space.”

“You appear to be approximately…” Maura trailed off, eyeing her. “…two inches taller than me, but I still believe there’s sufficient surface area for the both of us.”

Walking over to the bed, she laid down on one side, motioning for Jane to join her; the taller woman obliged, settling down next to her with the lithe grace of a cat.

“See? Even accounting for tossing and turning, there should be more than enough room.”

“How can you possibly be this logical all the time?” Jane asked, shaking her head.

Maura blinked. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“What? No.”

“Oh.” Maura paused. “I don’t know. I like facts—they’re very straightforward. Not like…”

“Not like people, you mean,” Jane said.

“Well—yes.” Maura nodded, surprised she’d been able to guess so quickly exactly what Maura had meant. She considered Jane carefully for a moment before asking, “How did you know?”

“Call it the sheriff’s instinct,” Jane drawled, the natural huskiness of her voice emphasized by the fake accent she’d put on. Suddenly serious, she turned back towards Maura and fixed her with a fierce stare that filled Maura with a tingling sort of heat. “You’re a very interesting woman, Dr. Isles.”

“I could say the same of you, Sheriff Rizzoli,” Maura returned. Her mouth was dry; eyes locked on Jane’s, she felt as though her words contained some coded message, as though they were both communicating something to one another that neither of them quite understood.

It felt like minutes that they sat like that, but it could only have been seconds later that Jane looked away, standing up from where she had been perched on the bed and walking over to the doorway.

“Ready to turn out the light?”

Maura nodded, settling herself onto her side to watch as Jane extinguished the flame in the kerosene lantern, plunging the room into darkness. She felt a slight draft of air as Jane walked past, making her way around the foot of the bed and sliding underneath the blankets next to Maura.

Jane’s voice came from the darkness somewhere to her right. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Maura laid there for a long time, listening to the crickets chirping outside and the gentle sounds of Jane’s breathing next to her. Even those sounds seemed almost unsettlingly quiet compared to the constant hum of noise in Boston or even the clacking of the train on its tracks during the late hours. She found that in the absence of sound, she could not picture what lay beyond the walls of the boardinghouse, under the moonlight in the California night.

Doing her best to keep her breathing steady, she tried to ignore the heat of Jane’s body next to hers, half-wondering if Jane could hear the swift beating of her heart.


	3. yeehaw, howdy, and other things we don’t say in california

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like y'all to know that the original title for this chapter was "yeehaw, motherfuckers!"  
> Not sure how this chapter got so long, but I hope you enjoy the relatively fluffy saga of Maura and Jane's journey back to Echo Station complete with bloomers, a horse with a ridiculous name, and one dashing young farmhand.  
> As always, thanks for reading and especially commenting. Y'all keep me motivated to write, and I really appreciate hearing your thoughts! :D Enjoy.

Maura’s awakening the next morning was of the slow kind; rather than jolting into the real world, her mind slipped back into consciousness in a kind of haze. The first thing she noticed was how cold the room was—they’d left the window open last night to combat the heat of the day, but the early morning breeze blowing in over the sill now was chilled, almost startlingly so. It blew across Maura’s exposed forehead, causing her to close her eyes and burrow back into the blankets again.

 _The large diurnal temperature differential is likely due to the relative lack of atmospheric humidity,_ her sleepy mind told her, already hard at work even in her half-conscious state. _Humidity and proximity to large bodies of water are effective insulators due to the high specific heat of water, a concept originally discovered by Scottish physician Joseph Black in the 1760s._

By the time her brain had finished running through the origins of the term “specific heat,” she’d begun to register one curious thing that was slightly more relevant to her current circumstance: despite the cool morning breeze, she wasn’t actually cold at all. Because underneath the blankets, she’d somehow found her limbs completely intertwined with Jane’s.

It took one more long moment for the reality of the situation to sink in, but when it did, Maura had to struggle to keep from tensing up, which, of course, would wake Jane and make her aware of this rather embarrassing situation. They were facing one another, legs sprawled across each other’s and Jane’s arm flung haphazardly across Maura’s hip. Jane was still asleep, looking strangely still and peaceful in the grey morning light. Her features were completely relaxed; Jane so often seemed to be a flurry of nonstop action and wisecracking confidence that to see her like this, without any of the usual bravado, felt oddly intimate to Maura.

Maura watched her like that for a moment, trying to figure out how best to untangle herself without disturbing Jane. Slowly, taking care not to shift too suddenly, she moved Jane’s arm away from its position on her hip, lowering it gently to the mattress. Jane didn’t stir at all; emboldened, Maura undertook the considerably more difficult task of untangling her legs from Jane’s under the covers. Jane shifted and mumbled something in her sleep—Maura thought she heard the words _Ma_ and _too early_ , which made her chuckle to herself—but Maura breathed a sigh of relief when their legs were at last disentangled and Jane’s eyes stayed firmly shut.

Softly, she slipped out of bed and padded over to the window, taking in the view below. Their room faced east; the first rays of dawn light were beginning to creep across the horizon now, the greys of the street fading gradually into color as light overtook shadow. There was already a flurry of activity outside, lamplight flickering from store windows and men on horseback trotting down the street. Birdsong was loud in the air, and Maura caught herself watching a group of little black-and-white birds flutter from branch to branch of a tree across the street, wondering what species they might be. Certainly songbirds of the order Passeriformes, possibly chickadees or sparrows of some sort, although—

“Hey,” said a quiet voice behind her, raspy from sleep.

Maura turned, only slightly startled to find Jane watching her. The sheriff was lying on her side, propped up by an elbow with her cheek resting against her fist. Her long, dark hair fell in wild disarray around her face, many more strands having escaped her braid sometime in the middle of the night. She looked soft like that, unguarded and still not quite alert.

Maura cringed. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s alright, I had to get up anyway.” Jane yawned, sitting up and stretching her arms out over her head. “You should see the way Ma used to wake me up in the mornings. She threw a bucket of water over my brother Tommy once when he didn’t get out of bed quick enough!”

“Your mother sounds…” Maura trailed off, unsure of what to say. She knew Jane had probably meant that her mother was overbearing, but Maura was struck by the fact that at least Mrs. Rizzoli cared enough to be involved in her children’s lives. Maura’s own mother had provided her with everything she’d needed, it was true, but she’d also been achingly distant.

Jane didn’t seem to register her hesitation, barreling forward with the conversation the way she always did. “She means well, but damn, if she’s not a pain in my ass sometimes.” Shaking her head, she threw back the covers and walked over to join Maura at the window. “Anything exciting going on out there?”

“Well, I was observing those birds over there,” Maura said, grateful for the change of subject. It was too early to be considering complicated family dynamics. Gesturing across the street, she indicated the pine tree where the little birds were still flitting about, their lively movements making the branches bounce up and down where they landed. “I was wondering what species they might be.”

“Oh, those? Mountain chickadees, they’re pretty common out here.” Jane smirked. “Not exactly my definition of ‘exciting.’”

“And what would conform to your definition?”

“Nothing happening down there right now, that’s for sure.”

Maura watched Jane’s face as her eyes traced over the landscape outside the window. She seemed to be taking everything in at lightning-speed, analyzing the scene below with an expert gaze. Watching her, Maura wondered what Jane might see that she’d missed; though Maura considered herself an observant person, her eyes often sought out the subtleties while altogether missing the bigger picture.

Jane glanced over, catching her eye, and Maura had the decency to blush at the realization that this was the second time she’d been caught staring. But Jane didn’t dwell or even call her out this time. She simply walked around Maura and over to her saddle bags, pulling out a fresh set of pants and a shirt and tossing them to a surprised Maura, who almost fumbled the bundle before her reflexes kicked in.

She blinked at Jane, perplexed. “What is this for?”

“You can’t ride all the way back to Echo Station in _that_ ,” Jane said, wrinkling her nose and gesturing to Maura’s dress, which she’d folded neatly into her trunk the previous night.

“Well, I suppose the crinoline would be a bit much. But you don’t really mean for me to wear this?”

Jane shrugged. “Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

“It’s a full day’s ride,” Jane said, giving her a _look_ that suggested Maura was ridiculous for even suggesting she could ride in a dress. “I think this particular fashion faux pas will be forgiven.”

“Pulling out the French, hmm?” Maura arched a brow. “Did you know that literally translated it means—”

“—false step.” Jane rolled her eyes. “I know, Dr. Encyclopedia. Now come on, let’s get going.”

Maura opened her mouth to tell Jane that technically speaking, she was less like an encyclopedia and more like a translation dictionary in this instance. But when Jane fixed her with a firm glare that quite clearly said _shut up and move your butt_ , she decided that particular comment might be unwise. Feeling self-conscious, she turned her back to Jane and quickly pulled on the clothes. That _was_ one perk of this get-up—at least she was fully capable of putting on all of the pieces by herself.

Maura could tell Jane was holding back her laughter when she turned back around. Despite what seemed to be her best efforts to the contrary, a little snort escaped Jane’s nose and she buried the bottom half of her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with mirth. Those wild brown eyes glinted at Maura, crinkled up at the edges in a way that was a dead giveaway for the smile concealed behind her hands.

Maura frowned. “I take it I look a bit laughable, then?”

“Kinda, yeah.” Jane couldn’t hold it back anymore, dropping her hands from her face to reveal a wide smile. Through bursts of laughter, she managed to add, “Your expression is the best part.”

“Jane! It’s really not funny.”

“Oh, but it is.” Jane gave her a wicked grin. “You look about as outta place in that get-up as I do in my Sunday dresses.”

Maura huffed. “Well, I can just take it off if you’re going to be so—”

“No!” Jane yelped, clearly attempting to school her expression into a more serious one (and failing miserably, though Maura did appreciate the effort). “Your big… skirt-thingy”—she gestured vaguely in the direction of Maura’s crinoline—“might’ve worked for you back in Boston, but there’s no way I’m letting you get on a horse in it.”

“That’s not the only alternative,” Maura started, “I did bring a riding habit that—” 

“Nope. End of discussion.” Jane cut her off, grabbing her elbow and steering her in the direction of the door. “We are having breakfast and then you are getting on that horse. In pants.”

*

Approximately thirty minutes later, Maura found herself sitting atop Jo Friday’s back, sandwiched by Jane in front and the saddle bags hanging down on either side of her. Jane had insisted on packing all of her belongings into the bags, which were now stuffed full; there was simply no good way to transport the trunk Maura had brought along, so she’d reluctantly left it behind.

She’d eventually convinced Jane to let her wear a pair of bloomers she’d brought especially for this trip rather than the men’s pants Jane favored, which (it had to be said) were not at all flattering on Maura. Still, she felt almost naked in a way, sitting astride the horse in her bloomers and borrowed shirt. Oh, sure, she was accustomed to the concept of bloomers, in an academic sense at least—for example, she knew they’d been popularized in 1851 by Amelia Bloomer, women’s rights advocate and publisher of female-led newspaper _The Lily_. But Maura had never had the opportunity to wear them herself. Her very traditional Boston family had been, well… _uptight_ was the word that had been used by one of Maura’s undergraduate classmates when she’d visited one summer. Though Maura chafed at the negative connotation of that word, she had to admit that maybe there was some merit to the claim. If only her mother could see her now, sitting astride a horse—in a traditional Western saddle!—and wearing _bloomers_ , no less.

“Alright,” Jane was saying, swiveling herself around in the seat to look back at Maura. “It’s not a long ride, and I’ll go slow. Just hold onto me and you’ll be fine.”

Maura had to conceal a smile at Jane’s serious demeanor; she obviously had no idea that Maura knew a thing or two about riding herself. Obediently, she put her arms around Jane’s waist. She’d only ever ridden side saddle after all, she told herself. It was better to be safe than sorry—especially when sorry might mean falling headlong off Jo Friday’s back.

The more logical part of her mind told her that there was no chance of that. She’d been quite a skillful rider in her college days, and she’d already studied the intricacies of Western riding prior to her departure from Boston. Of course she had; it was unlike Maura to be anything but completely prepared for whatever she might face. So she knew enough about riding to know that there was really no reason for her to loop her arms around Jane’s waist the way she was doing—and there was certainly no good reason for her to lean in quite so close.

But Jane had offered, and she didn’t seem to be at all bothered by their close proximity, so Maura stopped trying to make excuses to herself. Holding onto Jane filled her with a warm sense of security. There was just something comforting about Jane, an almost paradoxical mixture of brash confidence and a fierce, tender protectiveness. If she was like this with Maura, a mere acquaintance… well, Maura wondered just how loyal she must be to the people she loved.

True to her word, Jane kept Friday’s speed to a minimum as they plodded through town. Maura had been half-afraid that the sight of the two of them—in their rather unconventional attire—would attract attention, but no one gave them a second glance. Jane nodded to the men they passed on horseback, who replied with various grunts and nods; the only person that so much as caught Maura’s eye was a young woman carrying a basket of bread, and she just gave Maura a friendly wave before continuing on her way.

Jane hadn’t been lying; it was quite a short ride out of town to the pastures of one William M. Bass, with whom Maura had corresponded about purchasing a horse. Jane dismounted first before offering Maura a hand. She took it gently, grateful for the support as she made what she hoped was a graceful descent.

“See, aren’t you glad you’re wearing pants now?”

Maura chuckled. “You couldn’t possibly be any more satisfied with yourself, could you?”

“Let me think,” Jane said, pausing and adopting a faux contemplative expression, tapping one finger against her temple as she pretended to consider it before her face lapsed back into pure, unadulterated glee. “Oh, wait… not at all.

“I tooold you so,” she singsonged, elbowing Maura playfully as she waltzed past and around the front of Friday. “Now come on, let’s go find this Mr. Bass fellow.”

Maura nodded in agreement, wrinkling her nose and trying to avoid the piles of horse dung that seemed to be covering most of the surface area of the path leading up to the pasture gates. It wasn’t like she was wearing her nicest pair of shoes, but still… even her rattiest pair had cost a small fortune. Maybe it was shallow of her, but Maura wanted to keep them looking as nice as possible.

“What’s taking you so long, twinkle toes?” Jane called back to her, eyes gleaming. She’d already reached the pasture gate and had vaulted herself up and onto the wooden crossbeam at the top, sitting and swinging her long legs (which ended in very sensible boots) almost as if to mock Maura and her choice of footwear.

Maura rolled her eyes, at last reaching the gate. She didn’t bother climbing up to sit beside Jane, who was grinning down at her; instead, she was just beginning to open her mouth to explain _exactly_ how difficult it would be to clean horse feces from the soles of her shoes when a whinny sounded from somewhere behind her. Turning, she looked up to see a young man on horseback approaching.

“Howdy!” Maura called out cheerfully, catching his attention.

Jane gave her a strange look and elbowed her in the side, rolling her eyes when Maura turned to her in shock.

“Ouch!” Maura gave her a reproachful glare. “What on earth was that for?”

“‘Howdy,’ Maura, really? We don’t—” Jane cut off as soon as the man was within earshot. “Just shut up and let me do the talking,” she hissed under her breath.

“What can I do for you lovely ladies?” the rider asked with a wink that instantly charmed Maura. He was a handsome fellow, probably in his late twenties, with an easy smile and tanned skin that suggested many days spent in the sun. It was hard to ignore the fact that he had quite the nice physique—Maura could see well-defined biceps even underneath the sleeves of his rolled-up shirt. And based on her knowledge of human anatomy, she was willing to bet the rest of his body was just as muscular.

“Well—” Maura started, but Jane elbowed her in the side again. It wasn’t at all subtle—Maura could see a flicker of confusion run across the man’s features at the sight, but she wisely decided to stay silent rather than call more attention to herself.

“I assume you’re Mr. Bass?” Jane asked.

He tipped his hat at them. “If it’s two pretty ladies like you who’re asking, then the name’s Will.”

Jane plowed ahead with only the slightest eye roll, but Maura could read the exasperation in the way she blew a breath of air out before speaking. “My friend Dr. Isles here says she wrote you a while back about a horse. Any chance you remember that?”

“Dr. Isles?” Will looked between the two of them in confusion; Maura had to stifle a laugh, waiting for the puzzle pieces to fall into his place in his head.

Jane wasn’t so patient. “Yeah, yeah, ‘M’ stands for Maura, she’s a doctor, she just happens to be a woman, blah, blah. Get it through your pea brain, we haven’t got all day here.”

“Jane!” It was Maura’s turn to swat Jane on the arm this time. “ _Rude._ ”

The sheriff pouted like a scolded child, her voice petulant. “Jeez, Maura, you didn’t have to hit so _hard_.”

“As if you’re at liberty to make any comment after the way you jabbed your elbow between my ribs earlier,” Maura huffed. “I’ll be lucky to avoid a contusion! And I’m still not exactly sure the reason for that reaction, by the way.”

“For God’s sake, Maura, just call it a bruise like a normal person and—”

“ _Ahem_.” Will was glancing between the two of them now, looking as awkward as though he’d interrupted a lovers’ quarrel.

“What d’ya think you’re looking at?” Jane snapped, instantly defensive.

“I—nothing,” Will said, and just like that he’d recovered his charming smile. “I was just surprised. We don’t get many women doctors out here, you know?”

“Actually,” Maura interjected with a sunny smile, “it’s not just in California; there aren’t many female doctors even on the East Coast. As a matter of fact, according to data from the last census, only about five hundred of the sixty-two thousand physicians in the United States are women.”

“Uhhh…” Will clearly did not know what to say to that; luckily for him, Jane swooped in to redirect the conversation.

“So do you have the horse or not?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him,” Will said, obviously relieved that the conversation had turned back to more familiar territory. “If you ladies want to follow me, I’ll take you to the barn.”

Jane gave a curt nod, then hopped off the fence, making a slightly less than graceful landing next to Maura. She unlatched the gate, opening it and impatiently gesturing for Will to ride through.

“After you,” she told Maura, who picked her way through more piles of horse dung to follow Will into the pasture. Jane shut the gate with a thud before taking a few long strides to catch up and walk beside Maura.

“What was that about?” Maura asked in a low voice, leaning in close enough to Jane that their hips bumped when she took her next step.

“What was _what_ about?”

“The elbow.”

Jane smirked, face filled with an amusement Maura didn’t quite understand. “You said howdy to him.”

“Yes, I did.” Maura failed to see her point, but when Jane didn’t say anything further, she felt the need to elaborate. “I read that that’s the proper greeting out West.”

“You _studied_ for this?”

“I don’t appreciate the judgmental tone,” Maura said, frowning slightly. “It’s only natural to want to be prepared for such a big transition.”

“Yeah, well, you obviously didn’t study very well.” Jane snorted. “We don’t say _howdy_ in California.”

“You don’t?”

“God, no!”

Maura was sure Jane could see the look of disappointment on her face even as she tried to hide it. She’d been quite looking forward to saying _howdy_. “What about yeehaw?”

“Maura. We’re in California. Not Texas.”

“So no yeehaw?” she asked, just to confirm. After all, Jane _hadn’t_ said no. Not explicitly.

Jane sighed. “No, genius. No yeehaw.”

They’d crossed the pasture by now and were standing in front of a large wooden barn. Will had dismounted and was leading his horse, a fine bay mare, through the double doors, gesturing for them to follow. Thankfully, the ground here was much cleaner than it had been in the pasture. Maura no longer had to walk gingerly to avoid sullying her shoes; she strode confidently into the barn after Will, who was standing just inside the entrance with one hand resting on the horse’s flank.

He smiled as soon as he saw Maura, stepping forward to hold out a hand. She took it, expecting him to shake; instead, he drew her hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back.

“Maura, wasn’t it? A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

She heard Jane scoff from somewhere behind her; ignoring her, she smiled at Will. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.” His words could have come across as creepy, but somehow he was charming enough to pull it off. “Now, I understand you’re here about a horse. I have some of the finest mustangs this side of the Rockies—and trust me, a mustang is what you’ll want out here in the West.”

“Of course,” Maura said, nodding. She’d read up on this. “Mustangs are known for endurance and surefootedness. They’re thought to have descended from Spanish stock brought to colonial America and are generally rather compact, standing at less than sixteen hands high.”

“Beautiful _and_ smart,” Will commented, and Maura felt herself glow a little. It was a rare man who appreciated her intelligence. “You’re just the whole package, aren’t you, Miss Maura?”

Maura could feel Jane getting progressively more annoyed with every word that came out of Will’s mouth, but she chose to ignore it. Why shouldn’t she flirt with Will? Jane had been rude enough to the poor man already; and besides, it had been a while since Maura had been courted by any man as handsome as the fine specimen that currently stood in front of her.

“Why, thank you,” she said, casting a glare at Jane when she muttered something under her breath that sounded rather impolite.

“ _O-kaaay_ ,” Jane drawled. “Hate to break up the party here, but _Dr_. Isles and I have a long ride ahead of us today. And I don’t know about you, Maura”—Jane said her name almost as though annoyed that Will had had the audacity to call her by it instead of her title—“but I’d like to get back to Echo Station before next year, so let’s _move it._ ”

Will did not seem to want to mess with the force of nature that was Jane Rizzoli, which was probably a good thing, Maura reflected.

“Sure thing. Would you mind holding onto Firefly here while I take Maura on a little tour of the barn?” he said, unceremoniously shoving the reins at Jane, who looked exasperated.

“ _Maura_ ,” Jane muttered from beside her, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot.

Maura put a hand on her arm, trying to tell Jane without words that she’d make it quick; Jane must have gotten the message, because she gave a terse nod in return before watching as Maura followed Will to a stall at the far end of the barn.

*

“Oh, thank _god_ ,” Jane hissed as soon as Maura returned. “I thought you’d never come back.”

“For goodness’ sake, Jane, it was only ten minutes. You have the patience of a child.”

“Where’s Sir Flirts-a-Lot?” Jane’s eyes flicked around as if she were expecting him to jump out from behind Maura and yell _boo_. “I would’ve thought you two would be attached at the hip by now.”

“He’s bringing Herschel around to the front of the pasture for me,” Maura said in a measured tone, ignoring the vitriol (and maybe a hint of jealousy? She thought that was what it was, but it was unlike Maura to conjecture) in Jane’s tone. “And he’s really very nice once you get to know him. You should give him a chance.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t particularly care to know him.” Jane paused as if something had just occurred to her. “Who the hell is Herschel?”

“My horse! That’s what I’ve decided to name him,” Maura announced brightly. It was a rather good name, if she did say so herself—very noble.

Judging from Jane’s expression, she did not agree. “Herschel? What kind of name is that?”

“Sir William James Herschel was the first person to determine that fingerprints are unique and can be matched and used to identify criminals.” Trust Jane to miss the reference entirely. Although that might not have been entirely fair, Maura realized—Herschel _was_ a relatively new figure in the field, and Jane didn’t seem the type to read articles on forensic science for fun. Then again, very few people were that type.

“Okay, I get that he’s a smart guy and all that, but you’re really gonna curse your horse with the name _Herschel_?”

Maura raised an eyebrow. “What, like Jo Friday is so much better?”

Jane snorted. “Are you kidding me? Yeah, obviously it’s better.”

Despite herself, Maura couldn’t help smiling at Jane—the woman had such an expressive face, and the way she was looking at Maura now somehow managed to be endearing. Her expression was a combination of skepticism and doe-eyed superiority, eyebrow arched and lips pursed. It could have come off as condescending, but instead it just made Maura melt inside. Jane’s eyes told Maura that she was utterly convinced she was right, but there was nothing mean-spirited about it, just a fond regard behind the teasing.

“We will just have to agree to disagree,” Maura said lightly, taking Jane’s elbow and linking their arms together. “Now come on. Will told me he’d bring Herschel around the back and meet us in front of the barn.”

“Uh… what am I supposed to do with this horse?” Jane asked, gesturing to Firefly.

Maura blinked. “Bring her with us?”

“Ugh, I did _not_ sign up for this. When we get out there, I’m gonna give your boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well, no shit.” Jane rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, he seemed mighty keen to kiss the back of your hand, little-Miss-Maura.”

“And does that… bother you?” Maura’s tone was careful. She wasn’t quite sure why she was asking; maybe only to confirm her hypothesis from earlier. After all, Jane’s shortness with Will and her apparent frustration with his interest in Maura were textbook signs of jealousy. But why would Jane even be jealous? It made no sense.

Jane’s response was instant and emphatic. “Yes, Maura, he seems like a creep. Of course it bothers me.”

“Well, aren’t you just my knight in shining armor.” Maura couldn’t help her smile, nor the urge to add, “Did you know the chivalric code was developed sometime between the years of 1170 and 1220? Although the code was never formally—”

“Oh, shut up,” Jane said fondly. The lopsided grin she gave Maura was somewhere between exasperation and adoration. “Let’s just get this horse back to Sir Flirts-a-Lot before my desire to strangle him exceeds my self-control.”

*

Maura could see the tension drain out of Jane’s frame as soon as Will was out of sight, leading Firefly off towards the barn to give her the brushing down she deserved after their morning ride. Jane was instantly less fidgety, no longer kicking at the ground and stirring up dust with the scuffed toe of her boot. She relaxed against one of the wooden poles of the pasture fence, watching Maura check Herschel’s tack, all the intensity that had previously been in her movements now focused in her sharp gaze. Maura got the impression that this moment, with neither of them speaking, was calming for Jane.

It was calming for Maura, too; she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed this quiet preparation. She hadn’t really ridden since college, apart from the short trip she’d taken this morning with Jane, and she was finding herself rather excited to begin again. Herschel was a beauty—compact, as was fitting for a mustang, with a dusky brown coat and a broad white blaze down the center of his face. Maura took her time in adjusting the stirrups on the saddle, talking quietly to the horse under her breath to get him used to her presence. She was so focused that Jane’s appearance at her side was almost startling.

“Let me help with that.”

Jane’s right hand brushed over hers on the leather; for the first time, Maura noticed a curious scar in the middle—almost circular and slightly raised, with a red-pink sheen that indicated that the wound was relatively freshly healed. It was mirrored by a near identical scar on the back of her other hand, directly in the center. A very deliberate sort of wound, something done at close range. Maura would have guessed the injury had happened roughly three months prior, the result of a sharp object being driven into the flesh—that was, if she were the type of person who made guesses.

As it was, she thought a simple inquiry might be the best approach. “What happened to your hands?”

Jane recoiled, drawing her hands back almost as if she’d been burned. Looking up at her face, Maura saw her eyes go dark, something cold and impenetrable snapping down like a shield as she turned away, not quite meeting Maura’s gaze.

Her tone was snappy. “Do you want my help or not?”

“I can do it myself,” Maura said calmly. Clearly, she’d hit a nerve; she didn’t want to push any further.

“What, did you study for this too?” Jane’s words were filled with the same sort of poisonous condescension she’d used when talking to Will. Maura found herself unexpectedly hurt at the stark difference between her tone now and the teasing one she’d used with Maura earlier; with a pang, she came to the realization that she already cared a great deal about what Jane thought of her.

“As a matter of fact, I did not.” Maura paused, feeling uncomfortably as though she needed to justify herself. “I know quite a bit about riding, actually. I used to be on the equestrian team at my college.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.”

There was a long pause; Maura could tell from Jane’s body language that she was even more on edge now than she’d been back in the barn with Will, and that saddened her a little. Jane had her hands linked together now, and Maura could see her tracing the little scar on the back of her left hand with the thumb of her right. She wondered if they still ached, or if maybe Jane was imagining the moment she’d been given those scars. It was a miracle she still had function of her hands, the more analytical side of Maura thought. What she wouldn’t give to study the recovery process…

But then she caught ahold of her thoughts, mentally chiding herself for even thinking something like that. Other people’s trauma was fascinating to Maura, but she sometimes had to remind herself that her patients were human—that they were scared and sad and needed her to reassure them. It frightened her a little, made her wonder what must be wrong with her that she could so easily lose sight of emotion in the pursuit of knowledge.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Jane sighed, looking surprised and maybe a little chastened. Her voice was uncharacteristically vulnerable, her eyes surprisingly shiny. “I don’t like talking about it, okay? And I don’t know, I feel like I’ve known you forever somehow, but we’ve really only just met and—”

Maura raised a hand, cutting off Jane’s rambling. “It’s alright, really. You don’t have to explain.”

Part of her was struck with the urge to hug Jane, which made her frown slightly; it was a very uncharacteristic impulse. Physical touch wasn’t something Maura craved from most people, and when she did, it had to be on her terms. And Jane was right—they were near strangers, which made this an even more inexplicable feeling for Maura to be having. Yet she’d held onto Jane’s waist while they’d been riding earlier, and she had the same urge to wrap her arms around Jane now.

“Thanks.” Jane paused. “And I’m sorry I just assumed you wouldn’t know anything about horses.”

“That’s alright. I understand that I must seem very different from you.”

And then that trademark Rizzoli grin was back; Maura thought it might be slightly strained, but if it was fake, Jane did a good job of hiding it.

“Yeah, you can say that again, city slicker.” The accent was clearly exaggerated, but the huskiness of Jane’s voice still sent a quiet thrill down Maura’s spine. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about the _Wiiiiiild_ West, pardner. Yeehaw!”

Maura couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought you said ‘yeehaw’ wasn’t a proper Californian word.”

“It’s not.” Jane’s smile seemed more genuine now. “But I guess I can make an exception just this once. Now come on, partner. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

Maura knew it was silly, that Jane was only joking, but she loved how right that word sounded coming out of Jane Rizzoli’s mouth: _partner._

*

It was a long, dusty ride, and by the time Jane called back to Maura that they were almost there, she was more than ready to dismount. She’d been right—Western riding truly wasn’t _that_ different from side saddle, except for one thing: sitting astride a horse all day had the rather unfortunate tendency of making Maura’s legs ache from the uncomfortable position. It wasn’t in Maura’s nature to complain, but she had to admit she breathed a sigh of relief when the first wooden buildings of Echo Station came into view between the trees.

Maura’s first thought was that it was absolutely _tiny_. She’d lived in Boston all her life; though she’d mentally prepared herself for Echo Station after having seen how small even Aurora was, nothing could have fully prepared her for the sight she saw in front of her. They rode down the main street in what seemed like the blink of an eye, and Maura felt she’d barely had time to process her new surroundings by the time Jane slowed Friday so they could walk side by side.

“Welcome home, Doc.”

Jane looked so unabashedly happy that Maura couldn’t help but smile right back at her despite the exhaustion settling deep in her bones. It was clear how much Jane loved this place, and Maura could see why. The town was idyllic despite its size—the midsummer foliage was a mixture of green pine trees and oaks rising high above some smaller shrubs and the flaxen blades of grasses waving gently in the breeze. Golden, late afternoon sunlight cast dappled shadows through the trees, highlighting the little particles of dust hanging in the air where the horses’ hooves kicked it up. The buildings were quaint and wooden, not a brick or cobblestone in sight.

“It’s beautiful,” Maura said at last, unsure of how to convey the tightness she felt in her chest at the sight. It was a curious feeling; part of her thought she might cry, but she wasn’t sad. Still, though, she had the sense that everything had changed the moment she’d set foot (or, well, Herschel had set foot) in Echo Station. This was the beginning of something new and terrifying and maybe— _hopefully_ —wonderful.

Jane, meanwhile, had reached up behind her with one hand and undone her braid, running her fingers through the tangles and releasing the tousled mess. She looked like a wild horse herself, Maura thought, with her raven-colored curls ruffling in the slight breeze like a mane. The look on her face was wild, too; she tilted her chin up towards the sky, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. For a moment, she looked almost as she had that morning in the grey light of pre-dawn, completely open and carefree.

When she opened her eyes, she turned back to Maura, her smile coming easily now. “It smells like home.”

Maura took a deep breath, wishing she could experience it the way Jane did—to breathe in the emotions as well as the physical particles, although the scientific part of her brain immediately informed her that that wasn’t possible. The air smelled of warm dust and sharp pine and the tart heaviness of wood smoke, with a hint of something floral underneath it all. It didn’t mean home to Maura right now, but it might someday.

“How long have you lived here?”

“Most of my life.” Jane shrugged. “I was ten when we came West, so Echo Station is my hometown more than Boston. My father was one of the fools who thought he’d make his fortune out here. So he decided to try his luck panning for gold in the original rush of ’49.”

“And did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Make his fortune.”

Jane laughed, low and a little cynical. “The only gold he found was that blonde hussy he ran off with to San Francisco when I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry,” Maura said, unsure of what else she could say.

“Don’t be. He made his choice, and we’ve always been able to take care of ourselves.” Despite the bravado in Jane’s tone, Maura could sense the anger bubbling just under the surface. “Ma manages one of the local saloons, The Dirty Robber, and my brother Frankie is a deputy. And I’m the sheriff, obviously, so I’d say we’re doing alright.”

“More than alright.” Maura paused, then added, “What’s it like, being sheriff out here?”

“I don’t think I have the words,” Jane said, her voice coming out almost as a sigh. “It’s a blessing and a curse. They’d never let a woman work in law enforcement back in Boston. But people here still don’t respect me like they did Korsak. I’m still finding my footing.”

Maura nodded. “People don’t always take me seriously, either—not just the men, but the women as well. But I know I’m damn good at what I do. And from what I’ve seen, so are you.”

The corner of Jane’s mouth quirked up as she glanced at Maura out of the corner of her eye. “Thanks for saying that.”

Maura only gave her a reassuring nod in return, and they walked on in silence for a few moments before Jane slowed their pace even further.

“That’s my house there,” Jane said, pointing at a white-painted cabin that sat slightly removed from the main path. “And yours is right next door. No one’s lived in it for the last few months, not since the last doctor—”

She broke off, rolling her eyes and throwing her head back with an exaggerated groan of frustration. Gritting her teeth, Jane gestured towards a figure who had just emerged from inside Jane’s house and was excitedly waving at the two of them from the front porch.

“And _that’s_ my Ma. God, what on earth is she doing here? I told her to give the new doc some space, but as usual, she just _has_ to stick her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Maura chuckled, but stopped immediately when Jane cast a withering glare in her direction.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m sure she’s just curious to see me,” said Maura, trying to play the role of diplomat.

“Oh, ‘curious’ does not even do it justice. Nosy, more like.” Jane rolled her eyes. “My mother’s going to have a field day when she sees you, you know. She was absolutely _convinced_ the new town doc was gonna be the man I married. Couldn’t shut up about it for weeks, I swear to god.”

Meanwhile, Jane’s mother hadn’t ceased her excited waving; her distinctly Boston accent resonated through the air as the two of them drew up beside the house. In a way, it was almost comforting to Maura—a little taste of home even in this wilderness.

“Jane! You’re finally home.”

Jane just nodded, casting a look in Maura’s direction that said _well, someone’s certainly good at stating the obvious._ She dismounted with practiced ease, moving as though to embrace her mother, who recoiled.

“Oh, Jane, you smell like a barn!”

“No, Ma, really? I had no idea,” Jane deadpanned. “It’s not like I’ve been riding for the whole day or anything.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Jane Rizzoli, or I’ll just have to send the nice dinner I’ve made for you over to Giovanni’s house instead.” Angela brushed a stray piece of straw from Jane’s collar, causing Jane to immediately swat her hand away.

“Fine, fine! It’s lovely to see you, Ma. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

Angela harrumphed. “What could possibly be more important than your mother?”

“Uh, I don’t know, maybe _my job_? As sheriff? Or had you forgotten?”

“ _Jane._ ”

Maura recognized the tone as the one her own mother had reserved for the days when teenage Maura had had a particularly bad attitude; chuckling a bit to herself, she watched Jane quail under her mother’s gaze, giving a loud sigh and an exaggerated slump of her shoulders.

“Right. Sorry, Ma.” Turning back to Maura, she offered her a hand, which Maura gladly accepted, dismounting her own horse only slightly less gracefully than Jane had done.

Angela looked between the two of them in obvious confusion before leaning in close to Jane.

“Where’s the doctor?” Angela whispered (well, whisper wasn’t quite the right word) loud enough for Maura to hear.

“ _Ma_ —” Jane started. Maura could hear the exasperation return to Jane’s tone, so she stepped in to save them both.

“I’m Dr. Maura Isles,” she said warmly, holding out a hand. “And you must be Mrs. Rizzoli—I’ve heard so much about you from your daughter.”

“Whatever she’s told you about me, it isn’t true,” Angela quipped, offering Maura a warm smile. “Welcome to Echo Station, dear. We’re very happy to have you here. And you can call me Angela.”

Turning back to her daughter, she gave Jane a little swat on the shoulder (Jane, of course, reacted with the same wounded puppy look she’d given Maura earlier that day).

“Now, Jane, why don’t you go in and get changed into something _nice_ and then we can have dinner like a civilized family. We wouldn’t want Dr. Isles here to get the wrong impression, now would we?”

Maura couldn’t help but smile at that. She was sure the impression she’d gotten of Jane wasn’t exactly what Angela would have preferred; Jane wasn’t a demure young lady by any standard, but then, that wasn’t why Maura liked her. There was something different about Jane—something fierce and passionate and magnetic—that made her captivating in a manner all her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm gonna have to agree with Jane that Herschel is a ridiculous name for a horse. And it's just like Maura to name her horse that anyway.  
> Next up on "Rizzoli & Isles: Gold Rush Edition" we have a peek into Jane Rizzoli's head, the introduction of our dear Barrold Frost, and murder number one... so stay tuned for more fluffy flirting and a little bit of mystery thrown in!


	4. tiki-what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter can be summarized as "Jane and Maura doing what they do best: fighting crime and having amazing chemistry while they do it."  
> Gotta say, my favorite thing about writing Rizzoli & Isles is the amount of scientific bullshit Maura spews on a regular basis because it means I now have many fun facts to annoy my friends with as soon as quarantine ends. (Yes, I'm definitely more of a Maura than a Jane.)  
> Thanks for reading!

Jane was awoken in the middle of the night by a heavy knocking sound that echoed throughout her house. Instantly awake, she bolted out of bed and to her front door, heaving it open to reveal the worried face of her second-in-command, Deputy Sheriff Frost.

This couldn’t be good news. It never was when she was called in the middle of the night, and Jane was willing to bet she knew exactly what had happened. These disappearances were beginning to become a common occurrence in Echo Station; Jane tried not to let her stomach drop at the unsettling thought that she had no idea how to stop them. Now was the time for action, not pessimism.

“We’ve got a body,” Frost informed her, confirming her suspicions. There was no trace of his usual positivity in his expression; his mouth was set in a grim line, and he stood as if carrying a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

Jane cursed under her breath before giving Frost a brisk nod. “Alright. Another girl?”

“One of the local barmaids has confirmed her identity as Danielle Davis. She was an, erm… _entertainer_ in one of the saloons.”

“It’s okay, Frost, you can say prostitute. Not like we’re not all aware of what goes on in some of the town’s establishments.” Jane sighed. “I’d put a stop to it, but there are no laws against it. Give me a second to get dressed and then take me to the crime scene.”

She didn’t wait for his response, just left the door open so that he could make himself comfortable in her front room, which did triple duty as living room, kitchen, and dining area. Walking back to her bedroom, she dressed quickly. The rare exception to her usually less-than-tidy habits, Jane always kept her sheriff’s uniform folded neatly across the back of a chair for moments exactly like this one; it was only a minute or two before she was slamming the door to her room and securing her holster around her waist.

Giving Frost a nod of acknowledgement, she held the door open for him, letting the deputy lead the way into the night. Frost had left a kerosene lamp burning on her front porch; he picked it up as they walked by, giving them a small amount of light to illuminate the path ahead.

It was a necessary gesture. Jane figured it was probably about three in the morning; the only light came from the moon and stars glittering faintly above them. Although the moon was nearly full tonight, the tall trees overhead meant that its light was shadowy and dim, highlighting patches of grass and dried pine needles in a silvery tone. The night buzzed with the faint sound of crickets and the faraway babble of the river.

It was toward the latter sound that Frost led Jane, and as they drew closer, she made out the flickering of another kerosene lantern on the bank. The body was sprawled out about five feet from the edge of the water, fully clothed in a ruffled gown of a deep red color. Jane recognized the style of dress as the type commonly worn by women working in the less classy establishments of the town; oddly, the garments appeared to be completely dry. Despite the body’s proximity to the river, this woman had definitely been killed on dry land.

Jane’s younger brother Frankie was kneeling above the body’s head; next to him, a young woman in a nightgown was curled in on herself, sitting with her head buried in her arms. Although Frankie appeared to be trying to comfort her, he wasn’t having much luck. Her shoulders shook with sobs that were audible even from a distance.

“That’s Natalie,” Frost said in a low voice as they approached. “The one who identified the body. She worked with Danielle.”

“From the looks of it, they were pretty close,” Jane commented, stepping forward and gesturing for Frankie to move out of the way.

Kneeling down next to the girl, Jane placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Natalie jumped slightly at the contact, clearly on edge; Jane tried to reassure her, keeping her tone of voice calm and confident.

“It’s alright, Natalie. I’m Sheriff Rizzoli. I’m here to help.”

“C-can you find out who did this?” The girl looked up at last, meeting Jane’s eyes. She was a pretty brunette, and very young—not quite twenty, if Jane had to guess—with wide brown eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Jane forced down the pang of guilt that shot through her at the sight of Natalie’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin. There was a part of her that blamed herself for this. Maybe if she’d been more vigilant, if she’d increased patrols and enforced a curfew, Danielle would still be alive. Maybe if she’d just killed Hoyt when she’d had the chance, none of this would be happening. But she’d spared his life, and look where that mercy had gotten her.

“I promise we’ll do our best,” Jane said, channeling her energy into the here and now. Nothing she did now would bring Danielle or any of those other girls back; the best thing she could do was focus on catching whoever was responsible.

The girl just sniffled and nodded, wiping her nose on the white sleeve of her nightgown. Jane left her with Frankie, joining Frost just out of earshot of Natalie.

“Any sign of the murder weapon?”

“No.” Frost shook his head. “We’ve searched the area, but there’s nothing.”

“It might be worth coming back in the morning, taking another look in daylight.” Even Jane’s eagle eyes were next to useless in the middle of the night; a kerosene lamp and moonlight weren’t nearly enough to help her pick out the level of detail she needed. “For now I think we should focus on getting the body back to the station.”

“Got it.”

That settled, Jane walked back over towards the river again. “Frankie, would you mind escorting Natalie home?”

He nodded. “I’d be glad to.”

Natalie looked up at them both, her eyes wide and fearful. “But what if they come after me, too?”

“I can have Deputy Rizzoli stand guard outside your home for the night, if that would settle your nerves,” Jane suggested. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t extend such an offer; she simply didn’t have enough people on her team to protect every frightened friend of a victim. But she felt at least partially responsible for Danielle’s death. This was the least she could do for Natalie.

“I live at Madame Lola’s. I’m sure the other girls there would appreciate the protection as well.” Natalie sniffed. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

Jane nodded, watching as Frankie helped the brunette to her feet. Natalie looked much more at ease as they walked away, Frankie holding the lantern in one hand and wrapping his other arm around Natalie to support her. That was one thing her brother was better at than her, though she’d never admit it: Jane didn’t know quite how to comfort people the way Frankie did. Maybe it was that she was sarcastic where he was straightforward; whatever it was, Frankie had an easy humor about him that Jane sometimes envied. She knew Natalie would be safe with him looking after her.

“Right,” she told Frost, turning back towards the body. “Let’s get Danielle down to the station.”

*

It took about fifteen minutes for Jane and Frost to get the body to the station. There wasn’t a convenient way to transport her, so they had resorted to carrying Danielle in a sheet between them. By the time they stumbled up to the front door, Jane was solidly out of breath, and Frost wasn’t doing much better. Lowering the body carefully to the ground, Jane reached out for the door handle, fishing around in the pocket of her uniform for the key.

As soon as she touched the handle, she knew something was wrong from the way it turned smoothly under her palm. Backing away slowly, she turned to Frost and said in a low voice, “It’s unlocked.”

“What?” Shock registered on her partner’s face. “But that’s not possible—I locked the door myself earlier tonight.”

Jane nodded, deftly tying her hair up with one of the elastic bands she always kept in her pocket as she spoke.

“I know you did, and Abby knows better than to unlock it in the middle of the night, which tells me something isn’t right. Stay here with Danielle.”

Creeping closer to the door, Jane drew her pistol out of its holster, holding it out in front of her at the ready. Choosing to take a stealthy approach, she placed one hand gently on the door handle, turning it quietly and giving the door a slight push. When the movement didn’t generate any sort of response from inside, Jane stole closer, peering in through the gap.

A kerosene lantern glimmered at the far side of the room, sitting atop Jane’s desk in front of the door that led into the holding cells of the jail. A shadowy figure was outlined in silhouette, unmoving; whoever it was had their back to Jane and was apparently unaware of her entrance.

Drawing herself up to her full height, Jane kicked the door the rest of the way open with a loud bang, pistol drawn and pointed at the mysterious figure.

“Hands above your head!”

The figure let out what could only be described as a squeal of alarm, turning to face Jane and throwing her hands in the air. It took a moment for Jane to recognize her in the weak light of the kerosene lamp, but when she did—

“Maura?” Jane blinked in confusion.

“Jane!” Maura’s hands were still above her head, her face frozen in shock.

Jane’s confusion quickly turned to annoyance. She _hated_ being caught off guard, and she hadn’t had a shock like this in a long time. Holstering her pistol, she turned away from Maura and called back over her shoulder to Frost.

“It’s alright, Frost, you can come in.”

Frost poked his head in through the door. “We’ve still got a body out here, Jane.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Jane turned back to Maura, who had lowered her hands and was giving Jane an apologetic look. “What the _hell_ are you doing here in the middle of the night?!”

And how the hell did Maura manage to look so calm, standing in front of Jane in a nightgown and shawl as comfortably as if she were in her own bedroom? It was infuriating how damn put together she looked, without a single hair out of place. Jane was sure she looked like an absolute mess in comparison, which somehow managed to irritate her even more.

“I’m sorry,” Maura was saying in an even tone that mirrored the serenity of her appearance. “I thought I heard some commotion at your house, so I went next door to check. When I didn’t find you there, I concluded that you were likely to come to the station instead. I only wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, well, I’m fine. Clearly. The noise you heard was just Frost.” Jane went to run her hands through her hair and then realized it was still tied back, which only annoyed her further. Pulling out the elastic roughly (and taking several strands of hair with it), she winced and shook her head. _God,_ this was so not her night.

“Frost?”

“My second-in-command,” Jane explained, then let out a huff of annoyance. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you should _not_ be wandering around Echo Station by yourself after dark! You don’t know anything about what it’s like here. Something could have happened to you.”

_And I could never forgive myself if you got hurt_ , her brain finished for her, but she didn’t say it out loud. It was a strangely personal thought to be having about a woman she’d known for barely more than forty-eight hours, but Jane chalked it up to the odd night she’d been having. It was her duty as sheriff to protect the people of this town; Maura was now one of those people. It didn’t have to be any more complicated than that, and if it was, well, Jane didn’t want to think about it right now. She had bigger fish to fry.

Maura fixed her with a stare that might have been just a tad critical. “Yes, well, I’m fine. Clearly,” she said pointedly, echoing Jane’s words. “And now that I’m here, maybe I can help you?”

Jane snorted. “Unlikely, unless you’re a good enough doctor to bring people back from the dead.” Eyes widening, she suddenly remembered that she’d left Frost outside with the body—a situation which he surely wouldn’t be too fond of. “Shit! Frost. Gimme a sec, Maura.”

Jane darted back over to the door of the station, finding Frost leaning against the exterior of the building with the sheeted body at his feet.

“I thought you’d never come back,” he said as soon as he saw her. Despite Frost’s ever-positive tone and the half grin he gave her, the tension in his face betrayed his discomfort.

“Yeah, sorry, I know you’re not the biggest fan of dead bodies. I just had to deal with Maur—Dr. Isles.”

Frost raised an eyebrow. “What’s the new town doc doing here at such a late hour?”

“Checking up on me, apparently.” Jane rolled her eyes. “I told her I can take care of myself. Now come on, let’s get the body inside.”

Frost nodded, and the two of them grabbed opposite ends of the sheet, lifting the body between them and walking through the door into the front office of the sheriff’s station. With hardly a glance for Maura, Jane directed Frost toward the door on the left side of the room, which led into the station’s morgue.

It was a close, unpleasant room made even more unsettling by the fact that it was pitch black, a fact which Jane had failed to account for. The only light was the dim flickering of Maura’s kerosene lamp through the open doorway; eager to get the task over with, Jane and Frost heaved Danielle’s body onto the autopsy table, sheet and all. It was a narrow wooden platform, not at all sophisticated. But it got the job done, and that was what mattered to Jane.

Frost sped out of the morgue as soon as the body hit the table; Jane followed him back into the office at a more sedate pace, Maura greeting her with a nod of acknowledgement.

“I assume this is Deputy Sheriff Frost?”

Jane nodded. “Frost, this is Dr. Maura Isles, Echo Station’s new physician.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Isles,” Frost said, stepping forward to shake her hand.

“And you as well.”

“Now, Maura, if you’ll excuse us, we have a body to examine.”

“Oh! I’d love to come along and have a look,” Maura said, face lighting up with excitement.

“Like I said, unless you can raise the dead, I don’t think we’ll need your services,” Jane said pointedly. “It would be best for you to go home and get some rest.”

Maura’s tone had a bit of a challenge to it. “Well, if things are so very unsafe outside, perhaps it would be best for me to stay.”

Jane gritted her teeth. Despite her annoyance, she had to admit the woman had a point. She couldn’t very well send Maura home alone in the middle of the night with a killer on the loose; the only option was to let her stay. Besides, maybe she’d prove useful.

“Fine, you can help. Not like Frost over here’s much good anyway.”

“Hey!”

Jane gave him an easy smile. “You know I love you, Frost, but you couldn’t keep your breakfast down if your life depended on it.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, shaking his head. “I’ll stay out here and keep an eye out.”

“Lock the front door and then go check on Deputy Sherman,” Jane told him. “I’m sure she’s wondering what the commotion in here was about.”

“Sure thing, Jane.”

“Maura, you’re with me.” Grabbing Maura’s lamp from where it sat on the desk, she gestured for Maura to follow her into the morgue.

“Who’s Deputy Sherman?”

“Abby Sherman, another of my deputies. She’s on duty watching the jail cells tonight.”

“Do you have many criminals locked up there?”

“A few.” Jane left it at that. She’d arrested gunslingers and common thieves, drunkards and arsonists. Most of them were petty criminals, not cold-blooded killers. None of them scared her. But the thought of Charles Hoyt, sitting calmly in his cell at the other end of the building, made her want to collapse in on herself in terror. She hadn’t been to visit him since the day she’d locked him up; if she ever saw the man again, it would be too soon.

Setting the lamp down next to the table, Jane pulled back the sheet, revealing Danielle’s body lying there, pale and silent. Her eyes were closed, the red dress spreading out around her like a crimson pool of blood. The line of her mouth was peaceful; her hair was still glossy, curling loosely around her shoulders. The only thing to suggest that she wasn’t asleep was the bloodied puncture wound in the center of her throat.

“Why the bedsheet?”

Jane shrugged. “We had to get her down to the station somehow.”

“Well, U.S. Patent Number 39291 might be helpful in that respect.”

“…which is?”

“‘Improvement in Receptacles for Dead Bodies,’” Maura recited, then paused. “In layman’s terms, it’s a rubber bag designed for carrying bodies off the battlefield. It was invented by Dr. Thomas Holmes for use during the war.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jane had to remind herself that she was, in fact, still annoyed at Maura for barging into the station in the middle of the night. Truthfully, she found herself a little amused by Maura’s tendency to spout facts like some sort of living encyclopedia. And maybe the doctor was onto something with this body bag idea.

“Curious,” Maura was muttering, leaning in closer to inspect Danielle’s neck. “Jane, would you mind holding up the lamp? I need more light.”

Jane nodded, watching as the doctor pulled a small hooked instrument from somewhere on her person. Jane briefly wondered why on earth she’d been carrying it with her but promptly decided she’d rather not know; investigating Maura’s eccentricities was a mystery for another day. She watched as Maura used the hook to delicately pull back a flap of skin on the neck wound.

“That’s one nasty injury,” Jane commented. She had a strong stomach, but watching Maura probe around in the dead girl’s neck was unsettling even for her. It was probably for the best that she’d sent Frost to check on Abby; he would’ve been dry heaving already.

Maura nodded. “Yes, it certainly is. I’d say it was caused by a sharp, cylindrical object. Probably metal, as there are no particulates in the wound that would indicate a wooden weapon.”

“So that’s how she died, then?”

“No. The distribution of blood around the wound indicates that it was inflicted post-mortem.”

“What?” Jane frowned, leaning in closer and almost bumping Maura with the lamp in the process. “So then how _did_ she die?”

“Strangulation,” Maura said matter-of-factly. “I’ll have to do a neck dissection to be completely sure, but look here—there are contusions wrapping around to the anterior of the neck. And these small, crescent-shaped marks are consistent with fingernails. There’s also evidence of asphyxiation with the petechiae present along the mandible and across the zygomatic arch.”

“Tiki- _what_?”

“Petechiae. Small red spots on the skin caused by hypoxic damage and an increase in intravenous pressure.” Maura used her hook to open one of Danielle’s eyes, revealing a myriad of red dots underneath the eyelid. “They often appear in the conjunctiva as well.”

“Speak English, Maura.”

“The tissue of the eyes,” Maura clarified.

There was just one thing Jane didn’t understand. Why go to the trouble of strangling someone if you had a weapon on hand to stab them with? And Maura had said the wound was caused by a cylindrical object, which implied that it was not a knife. Knives and guns were by far the most common homicide weapons, in Jane’s experience; they were also the deadliest. For someone to have stabbed Danielle post-mortem with an unknown metal object suggested anger or frustration—not the cool, collected M.O. of a serial killer like Hoyt, who was more interested in causing pain _before_ death.

“So why the stab wound?” she wondered aloud.

Maura shrugged. “I’m not qualified to interpret the killer’s motives. I’ll leave that to you.”

Jane paced back and forth, the body and Maura in the corner of her eye reminding her of the urgency of this task. It was at times like this that she missed Korsak’s guidance—he always seemed to know how to crack these things. And although she knew she could stop by his house to talk to him, doing so would feel almost like a failure. Jane was good at what she did; there was rarely a criminal she failed to catch. But these deaths and disappearances seemed to be beyond her in a way only Hoyt had been—and that made it personal, regardless of whether he was actually tied to these cases.

“The stab wound was unnecessary and increases the likelihood of us catching whoever is responsible,” Jane reasoned, running through her theory out loud as much for her own benefit as for Maura’s. “Why add a murder weapon if you don’t have to? That tells me the killer lost his cool—maybe because this is personal.”

But then she sighed, frustrated by the holes in her reasoning. “I’m not sure that’s right, though. This is the second body we’ve had with this type of wound—the puncture, not the strangle marks.”

“Contusions,” Maura corrected, almost automatically.

“Gee, thanks, Dr. Isles, I’m sure you had _no idea_ what I was referring to.” Jane couldn’t help the irritation in her voice, even though the more rational side of her knew she had no right to take this out on Maura—it wasn’t _her_ fault that Jane was proving to be the most useless sheriff ever. “The point is that there’s a pattern here, and the first victim appeared to have conclusively been killed by whatever weapon did that to Danielle. Not by strangulation.”

“Do you still have that body?”

“No, she was found two weeks ago. The body was returned to her family after we examined it.” Jane drew a heavy breath. “God, it was awful. She was only thirteen years old.”

Maura had a sharp, analytical look in her eye that suggested she was thinking of this in a distinctly less emotional light than Jane was. It made Jane prickle a little—she almost wanted to shake Maura and ask how she could be so cavalier about it all—but she took a deep breath instead, trying to relax herself. Her muscles were tense and almost shaking with adrenaline, and she was sure the lack of sleep from being woken up in the middle of the night wasn’t doing her any favors, either.

“Was an autopsy performed?” Maura asked, still with that disconnected gaze. “If there was one, maybe I could look at the files and see if there are any similarities.”

Jane shook her head. “There was nobody qualified to perform one.”

“What about the previous doctor?”

“He was killed months ago, Maura. That’s why Korsak wrote to you. And besides, Dr. Pike was more concerned with keeping people alive than figuring out why they died.” Jane rolled her eyes. “It’s not like cause of death is very hard to determine out here—it’s usually a gunshot or some awful disease. You don’t need an autopsy to tell you that.”

Maura pursed her lips, looking disappointed. “Well, it’s a shame that there isn’t more existing data. I’m sure there are all manner of fascinating causes of death that went undocumented.”

“Yeah, there are lots of ways to die here. Which is why we need a _doctor_ , not a forensic scientist,” Jane snapped. “Why the hell do you know so much about this stuff anyway?”

If Maura was hurt by her tone of voice, she didn’t show it. “I’ve always loved forensics. If I’m honest, I prefer it to working with living patients. It’s much more mentally stimulating, and it’s… well, the stakes aren’t quite as high. There are less chances to get something wrong, less emotions involved. But there are even fewer opportunities for women in forensics than for women in the medical sciences as a whole, so I’ve never had the chance to apply my knowledge.”

“Alright, well, here’s your chance. Why do you think the killer stabbed Danielle after she was already dead?”

“I don’t make guesses,” Maura said primly.

Jane felt her blood begin to boil. “What do you mean, you don’t make guesses? Everyone guesses.”

Maura shook her head. “I can give you my honest medical opinion, but I refuse to draw conclusions until there is sufficient evidence to do so.”

“Alright, then, what about theories?” Jane fought the urge to roll her eyes again, trying to keep her tone of voice even and patient. Unfortunately, patience was not one of the virtues with which Jane Rizzoli had been blessed.

“If you’re talking about theories in the scientific sense, then yes, of course I believe in those.” Maura paused. “But if you’re using theory in the more conventional sense of the word, then that’s equivalent to a guess.”

“ _Maura._ ” Jane curled her hand into a fist at her side. “Help me out here.”

“I’m sorry, Jane, but I can’t.”

The words came out before she could think better of them. “What the hell are you good for, then?”

Jane knew she was being irrational and unfair to Maura, but she couldn’t help herself. It was late at night, this was the second death of a young girl in as many weeks, and she found herself hitting yet another dead end with this case. She felt like a failure on so many counts—ever since that encounter with Hoyt, she’d had the lingering feeling that something had been broken inside of her that could never be repaired. She didn’t have the same courage she’d had before. Jane Rizzoli had lost her edge, and this only proved it.

“I’m sorry—” Maura began, but Jane just shook her head.

“I’m gonna get some air.”

Leaving the kerosene lamp burning on the table next to Maura, she exited the morgue in a hurry, letting the door bang shut behind her. Frost must have been in the jail wing with Abby, because she didn’t see him as she passed through the office, which brought a wave of relief flooding over her. No one else should see her like this.

The tight feeling in her chest was somewhat abated by the cool air flowing over her as soon as she opened the front door. The chill of the night easily seeped in through the fabric of her uniform, but Jane didn’t fully register the sensation. She was just relieved to look up and see the stars glinting coldly overhead, putting everything in perspective for a moment. Echo Station and Jane and even the threat of a murderer on the loose were small and insignificant compared to the greater orchestrations of the universe.

Jane laid down in the small patch of grass to the left of the front door, settling with her arms beneath her head so she could look up into the vast vault of the sky. There was something comforting about being alone outside with only the sounds of nature surrounding her. The wind whispered through the crowns of the evergreens, bringing with it the refreshing scent of pine needles. Far away, the screech of an owl sounded.

Closing her eyes, Jane tried in vain to banish any thoughts of Hoyt from her mind. There was just something about that man that managed to get under her skin—something in his eyes that seemed specifically designed to break her apart piece by piece. Memories flashed through her head: the silver flash of a knife, the sticky trickle of the blood over her fingers, the crack of the gunshot and Korsak’s groan when the bullet lodged itself into his thigh. And the way Hoyt had laughed—oh, _god_ , the grating, poisonous sound of his laughter as the tears had leaked silently from the corners of Jane’s eyes.

She shivered, opening her eyes again. Maybe Korsak was right; maybe Hoyt had nothing to do with this new string of killings, and Jane was just fucked up in the head. She still dreamed about him most nights, lying there paralyzed in the dark when she woke up, half-convinced she saw his silhouette standing over her in bed. Even after she came to her senses and realized it wasn’t real, the pervasive terror of the nightmare lingered for hours.

The sound of the station door opening made Jane turn her head. It was Maura, looking like a pale angel in her white nightgown. Quietly, she came over to where Jane was lying in the grass and settled herself down beside her.

Jane focused her eyes back up on the stars again; out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Maura was doing the same. Even when she spoke, Maura didn’t turn her head to look at Jane.

“Are you alright?”

Jane wasn’t sure where the tightness in her throat had come from. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you’d rather not.” Maura paused, and Jane could tell she was about to spit out some scientific fact or another. “But studies show that talking to others about trauma tends to aid in the recovery process.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” Jane managed, feeling fragile and hating herself for it.

Jane heard Maura roll over and onto her side so that she was facing Jane. She felt rather than saw Maura looking at her, those wide hazel eyes analyzing her with a sort of peaceful self-assurance. It was an examination, not a judgement. Jane didn’t know how Maura could be like this—soft and reassuring and steady, without any trace of anger. If it had been the opposite, if Maura had snapped at _her_ like Jane had done back in the morgue, Jane knew she couldn’t have found it in herself to be half as forgiving.

She wanted to apologize, to tell Maura that it really wasn’t about her. There were just so many things in Jane’s life that felt overwhelming right now—not just the killings and the nightmares about Hoyt, but the daily things. Making sure her younger brother Tommy didn’t get into too much trouble. Turning down every abhorrent marriage prospect her mother dragged to Sunday dinner. Trying to prove to everyone in Echo Station that a woman could be a damned good sheriff.

Not to mention certain truths about herself that Jane simply did not have time to think about. Ever since the last time she’d visited Clara at the Wild Rose in Aurora, she’d wondered if… but there were more pressing problems to deal with right now. There were always more pressing problems, and maybe that was a good thing, because at least that way Jane didn’t have to spend so much time thinking about her own thoughts and feelings. Introspection made her uncomfortable.

Turning over onto her side, Jane met Maura’s gaze. Everything was in shades of black and grey under the starlight, and Maura’s eyes glittered an unearthly shade of silver. The words died in Jane’s throat. There were so many things she couldn’t explain to Maura, so many things she couldn’t say out loud to _anyone_. Maybe someday she’d tell Maura everything, but Jane had to figure things out for herself first.

She couldn’t find the words to apologize, so she let her body speak for her. Shifting closer to Maura, she reached out and pulled the other woman into a gentle embrace. The little inhale of shock that issued from Maura’s mouth almost made Jane reconsider, but then she felt Maura relax into her arms. The doctor’s arm came up to wrap around Jane’s shoulders, pulling her in closer, and Jane knew that even without words, Maura understood what she was trying to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! I couldn't help but throw a little murder mystery into this story along with the relationship arc.  
> Also, kudos to anyone who recognized the names in this chapter, especially Abby Sherman. She was only in one episode but I loved her so much that I couldn't help but bring her back!


	5. dress to impress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for sticking with this story and for all of your kind reviews! They really make my day. :)  
> This chapter is mostly fluffy and lighthearted, so I hope you enjoy.

Jane opened the door with a look on her face that was half-annoyance, half-anger, but her eyes lit up as soon as she saw Maura standing on the doorstep.

“Maura, thank _god_. Ma’s driving me insane.”

Maura couldn’t help but laugh a little, stepping through the door Jane was holding open for her. The sheriff looked uncharacteristically feminine, wearing the blue-printed dress she’d shown Maura back in Aurora. She appeared to be wearing a petticoat underneath it as well—it fluffed out around her legs in a swishing mass, but Maura could just see the toes of her practical boots poking out underneath the hem. Jane’s hair was undone and curled around her shoulders much more neatly than usual, as if someone had made her actually comb it for once; Maura wondered if Angela Rizzoli was responsible for that particular miracle.

“You look nice,” she commented, only half-teasing. Jane looked uncomfortable in the outfit, but she still carried herself with the same smooth confidence she always did. It didn’t matter what Jane wore; she would always be beautiful. Maura had given up on trying to deny it to herself—Jane Rizzoli was an attractive woman by any standards, and her charisma made her beauty even harder to ignore. It was only logical that Maura should recognize it.

Jane gave a derisive snort. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be winning any pageants. You, on the other hand…”

Maura had to admit she liked the way Jane’s eyes ran over her body. She’d taken special pains to look nice tonight—not that she didn’t always make an effort to look nice, but she’d figured that it was worth dressing up a little bit extra for the first time she’d been invited to Rizzoli family dinner. She’d told herself it was just to make a good impression, but there was a small part of her that knew she’d picked this dress because she’d thought Jane would like it.

It was a taffeta gown with puffy sleeves and a scoop neck that showed just a hint of cleavage. The fabric was a shiny forest green in a shade that complemented Maura’s eyes, and the skirts were full, thanks to her trusty crinoline and a few layers of petticoats. Truth be told, it was a dress more suited to night out at a ball than dinner at her neighbors’ house, but Maura always preferred to be overdressed rather than the alternative. And besides, the way Jane was looking at her now made it more than worthwhile. She could have sworn she saw Jane’s eyes flicker down to her chest, but they darted back up to her face again before Maura could be sure.

“You look lovely,” Jane finished, giving her a fond smile. “I’m sure Ma will approve.”

Leaning forward, Jane brushed a light kiss to Maura’s cheek. Though Maura knew she meant it only as a polite greeting—after all, she’d done the same with Clara back in the saloon—she couldn’t help but shiver a little at the close contact. Having Jane’s face so close to her own was distracting, and for a moment she found herself at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

Luckily, she was saved by the arrival of Angela, poking her head into the front hall.

“Well, Jane, are you going to invite her in, or are the two of you going to stand there all night?”

Angela’s accent and the warmth behind her words made Maura’s insides seize up a little bit. There was just something about Jane’s mother that reminded her so much of Boston, and for a moment she felt an aching hollowness deep inside of her at the thought of everything she was missing back home.

Brushing it off, Maura gave a gracious smile. “Thank you so much for having me.”

“Of course, Dr. Isles. It’s our pleasure.”

“Just Maura is fine.”

“Maura, then.” Angela looked pleased, and Maura couldn’t help but smile more genuinely this time.

Jane took her by the elbow, leading her through the door and into the dining room, where the table had been spread with a red-checkered cloth. Maura could tell that everything had been laid out with extreme care, from the dishes themselves to the folded napkins. She let Jane steer her to a seat at the far side of the table; the dark-haired woman pulled out her chair with an exaggerated flourish.

“Your seat, Miss Maura.”

“Why, thank you.” Maura took her seat with a quick glance over her shoulder at Jane. “But as a matter of fact, it’s Dr. Isles.”

“Ah.” She could see a little flicker of surprise cross Jane’s face, as if she weren’t quite sure what game Maura was playing at. “Doctor, you say?”

Maura nodded, biting back a smile. “That’s correct.”

“Well,” Jane murmured, leaning down to speak the words close to her ear, “I assumed I was a bit more intimate of an acquaintance than Will Bass. Did I assume wrong?”

Maura hated herself a little bit for the instant electricity that shot through her body at Jane’s words—or more specifically, at the way she’d said them, low and quiet and close enough that Maura could feel the warmth of her breath. It had been a long time since someone had been able to make Maura feel this way; it didn’t happen often, though she’d had many suitors. The last time had been almost a year prior, with Garrett, who’d had a sort of effortless charm that had swept her off her feet. Her parents had wanted her to marry him; he was from a “suitable” Boston family, which meant he’d make Maura into a trophy wife and little else. She’d loved him, but not enough to give up her dreams.

The time before that had been in college, with a girl named Charlotte in the year ahead of her. They’d met in the library before finals and had started a summer correspondence that made passing the long, lonely months in Boston almost bearable. Charlotte’s intellect had lit Maura on fire, so it had been only natural for the two of them to fall into a passionate romance when classes resumed in the fall. It had been easy enough; in the daylight hours, they were simply close friends. It was only after dark, in the privacy of the room they shared, that there was another dimension to their relationship. But then Charlotte had met Walt, and suddenly she was too busy pursuing her “real” relationship to have time for Maura anymore.

This time, as with the previous instances, Maura wasn’t sure if she liked the feeling or not. On the one hand, she knew that desire was a natural part of human existence. On the other, these feelings always made Maura feel off-kilter and illogical, which didn’t sit well with her natural tendency to want to analyze and dissect every aspect of her life.

“No,” she managed to choke out at last. “Your assumption was not incorrect.”

Jane looked altogether too pleased with herself at Maura’s response. Jumping back, she walked around the side of the table to take the seat opposite Maura, nearly stubbing her toe on thin air in the process. Maura couldn’t help but laugh at her—Jane was so graceful in some instances and so completely clumsy in others. It was hard to believe that this Jane Rizzoli, tripping herself up trying to walk around a table in her long skirts, was the same person as the one who could dismount her horse with a fluid, almost feline grace.

Dropping into her seat, Jane called, “Ma, when’re we gonna eat? The food’s getting cold!”

“As soon as Frankie comes in,” Angela responded with a frown at her daughter, who ignored it completely.

Jane snorted. “The day Frankie manages to be on time to dinner will be the day pigs fly, Ma.”

Angela harrumphed. “ _You’re_ usually the one who’s late, Jane.”

“Hey! I was here on time today, wasn’t I?”

Angela didn’t deign to answer; Maura bit back a laugh at the look of motherly exasperation on her face.

“ _FRANKIE!_ ” Angela bellowed, and Maura couldn’t help but jump a little in her seat.

Exchanging a glance with Jane, Maura could see that she, too, had winced at the loud sound. In fact, Jane was covering her ears in an exaggerated display of pain.

“Jeez, Ma, you’re gonna blow our ears out with all this shouting.”

“The day I’ll stop shouting is the day all of my children manage to come to dinner on time,” Angela huffed, as a man Maura could only assume was Frankie made a hesitant entrance into the room.

He looked a bit like Jane—the same dark hair, though straighter, and the same clear brown eyes. She gave a polite smile and nod as his gaze landed on her. He immediately returned the smile with a warm one of his own, coming over to shake her hand.

“I’m Frankie, Jane’s brother.”

“And a deputy as well, I hear,” Maura said, shaking his hand. “Dr. Maura Isles. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Frankie opened his mouth as if to say something more, but he didn’t manage to get a word out before Jane cut him off.

“Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, can we eat already?” Jane was thrumming with energy, tapping her fingers against the tablecloth with urgency. “I don’t know about you, but I’m _starving_.”

“ _Jane!_ Have some manners.”

“Sorry, Ma, but it’s not my fault that Frankie took _forever_!”

Angela made a point of looking away from her eldest child, focusing instead on Maura. “Maura, would you mind passing the potatoes over this way?”

Maura nodded, grabbing the edges of the dish and passing it over to Angela. The words slipped out before she could stop herself, a combination of her natural affinity for trivia and the general nervousness of socializing with new people.

“Did you know that potatoes were first domesticated and cultivated between 5000 and 8000 BC in South America? Interestingly, the shape of the potato proved to be an inspiration for ancient sculptors in the region, who often depicted transitional forms between human beings and potatoes.”

There was no immediate response from Angela and Frankie, who were doing their best to look politely intrigued. Maura instantly flushed red, wondering why on earth her brain had to do this to her. This was exactly the sort of thing that had made her the subject of ridicule in her younger days, and she wasn’t exactly eager to have a repeat performance of those friendless years.

Jane snorted. “Ignore her encyclopedia mouth, she’s just nervous for her first Rizzoli family dinner.”

“Jane!” Maura wanted to deny the accusation, but she couldn’t do so without breaking out in hives, so she settled for glaring at the sheriff from across the table.

Jane just brushed her off with an airy wave, taking the potato dish right out of Angela’s hands (and prompting a glare from her mother). Noticing that everyone was looking at her, she hastily scooped some of the potatoes onto her plate and passed the dish to Frankie, who accepted it with a sheepish glance at his mother.

“Jane,” Angela hissed, “can’t you at least _try_ to be ladylike? For the company?”

“Company?” Jane raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like this is another one of your efforts to marry me off. Maura’s not judging. Right, Maura?”

Before Maura could respond, Angela stood, grabbing Jane’s arm. “I think I left something in the kitchen, Jane.” She cast an apologetic look at Maura, who gave her an awkward smile in response to the very obvious excuse. “We’ll be right back.”

Maura and Frankie sat in awkward silence for a long moment before Maura asked, “Is it always like this?”

Frankie shrugged. “Ma’s a meddler, but she and Jane love each other deep down. They’ll be fine.” He frowned, giving her a strange look. “Don’t you ever argue with your mother?”

“Not… argue, per se, although we have had a few disagreements.” Maura paused. “My parents preferred to live their own lives and leave me to mine. There simply isn’t much opportunity for discord with such limited interaction.”

“Yeah, well, I think that’s about to change.” Frankie chuckled, giving Maura a slanted grin that reminded her a lot of his sister. “Ma’s already roped you into family dinner. By next week she’ll be meddling in your life, too, just wait and see.”

Maura couldn’t help but smile at his words, feeling a little glow deep within her chest. Even though she was far from home, it was comforting to know that she wasn’t alone.

*

After dinner, Jane had nearly bolted out the front door before Maura could even finish exchanging pleasantries with Angela. Seeing how fidgety and uncomfortable Jane looked in that dress, Maura had told Angela she wanted to discuss something with the sheriff, thanked her for a wonderful meal, and told her she meant to repay her hospitality at some point in the near future. And then Jane had practically dislocated Maura’s glenohumeral joint yanking her down the hall and back into the wild outdoors.

The July day was long; the sun was dipping low in the sky, though from its altitude, Maura estimated that they had at least an hour before it fully set. It cast the scene in a golden tone, giving bronze highlights to Jane’s dark curls and highlighting her high cheekbones. Maura was sure her own hair glowed honey-red in the pre-sunset light; she’d always thought this was a particularly beautiful time of day. The evening chill hadn’t yet set in, leaving the air warm and dusty as Maura and Jane strolled down the path in peaceful silence.

“Where are we going?”

“Hmm?” Jane looked lost in thought, her eyes unfocused for a moment before she realized what Maura had asked. “Oh. Down to the river. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, I just like to… decompress after Ma’s dinners.”

“I’d love to accompany you,” Maura said, then quickly added, “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

Jane turned her head to look at Maura, expression unreadable. Her mouth quirked up slightly at the side in a soft sort of smile, which would indicate happiness, but the slant to her eyebrows signaled confusion. And there was something behind her eyes that Maura couldn’t quite decode.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “I’d like it if you came.”

They walked for a while in silence. Maura couldn’t help but notice the little details of Jane’s appearance—the way her walk was almost like a lope, her strides long and fluid; the tangles that were beginning to form in her hair as the breeze blew through the strands; the way her eyes were focused on the sky rather than the ground in front of her, and yet she was completely surefooted. She seemed like a part of the environment itself, an extension of the red dust underfoot and the wide, cloud-studded sky overhead.

Maura was familiar with the idea that one’s natural environment did, in fact, influence their disposition; she’d voraciously read Darwin’s _On the Origin of Species_ in her college days (and his cousin Francis Galton’s work on nature versus nurture), and she was pleased that his ideas were beginning to gain more traction with every passing year. Her mind, analytical as always, searched for the logical explanation for why Jane was the way she was: strong and resourceful and brave in a way that Maura, with her sheltered upbringing, could never dream of being. Maura would probably never be at home here amongst the crickets and dust and manzanita bushes the way Jane was.

The vegetation around them was slowly beginning to change as they made their way toward the water. Pine trees were sparser here; the blanket of dried needles on the ground subsided, revealing soft earth. Stands of aspen trees rose above them, green leaves shiny and almost glittering as they moved in the breeze. Maura ran her hand across the black-and-white speckled bark as she passed, feeling the almost chalky texture beneath her fingertips. The scrubby patches of sagebrush and mules’ ears were replaced by riverside willows with thin, smooth leaves waving from the ends of flexible yellow-green branches. Maura could hear the sound of the river long before she saw it, shining and lively as it rushed its way through the forest.

The clearing where Jane finally stopped was an idyllic setting—clear water rushed past at the far end, murmuring sweetly as it tumbled over mossy rocks. Willows and pines rose up on either side of the grassy area, protecting the bank and making the clearing feel sheltered and safe. The scene was made even more magical by the golden light of the hour, which caught the wings of a ladybug as it buzzed gently through the air, Maura’s eyes tracking its movement until it was out of sight.

Jane must have seen the awestruck look on Maura’s face, because she laughed quietly.

“You should see it in the spring, when all the wildflowers are in bloom.” Crossing the clearing, Jane settled herself down on a large, flat rock and gestured for Maura to join her.

The rock was far more comfortable than Maura would have expected, though she was careful not to damage the fabric of her dress on its rough surface. Running her finger along the stone, she noted the relatively large grain size and flecks of mica. Granite, probably originating from a peak in the Sierra Nevada and carried to the foothills by erosion. It was from within this sort of rock that the miners hoped to extract gold.

“So, what’d you want to talk to me about?” Jane asked as soon as they’d settled in. “Is it about the case?”

“Oh! No,” Maura admitted with a slight blush. Maybe it was selfish of her to steal Jane away like this, but she’d thought Jane could use a break from her family, based on her body language. “I just wanted to talk to you. And rescue you from your mother. Although now that you mention it, I _did_ come up with a sort of… theory.”

It was hard for her to even say the word out loud; guessing made Maura’s skin prickle and left a sour taste in her mouth. But she supposed this wasn’t a guess so much as an inference based on the available evidence, and besides, it was worth it to see the completely shocked, slightly impressed look on Jane’s face.

“Thought you didn’t make guesses.”

“I don’t. Not ordinarily.” Maura bit her lip, trying to bite back the urge to specify that this was not, in fact, a guess. She failed. “Well, it’s not a guess, technically. More like… a probable scenario.”

“So in other words, a _guess_.” Jane was smirking now, and Maura wasn’t sure if she felt annoyed or amused.

“Stop saying that! I’m going to break out in hives.”

Jane chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re allergic to guessing.”

“Not strictly. Just to telling lies.” Maura paused. “And it’s not an allergy in the conventional sense, as the word allergy generally implies an immune response to a particular substance. Untruths are clearly not tangible and therefore cannot be considered allergens.”

“You really can’t tell a lie?” Jane asked, skipping straight over Maura’s scientific explanation.

“No. Not without getting hives.”

Jane was giving her a long look like she had earlier, with that unreadable emotion behind her eyes—just thoughtful, neither positive or negative, and not nearly as harsh and analytical as the way she’d looked at Maura when they’d first met in Aurora. This look was far more personal. Maura almost wanted to squirm under the intensity of it.

She couldn’t help but ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Jane’s posture immediately shifted, the light returning to her eyes as her husky voice took on a teasing lilt. “You’re not the only one who’s allowed to stare, you know.”

Maura opened her mouth to respond, only to find that witty comebacks were apparently in short supply at that very moment. Effectively caught off guard, she could feel herself light up red and silently cursed the blood vessels in her cheeks for dilating and giving her away.

“Thought I wouldn’t notice?” Jane’s smile was a full-blown smirk now. “Why?”

“Why what?” Maura deflected, though she was fairly certain she knew what Jane was asking.

“Why do you look at me like that?”

Maura bit her lip, trying to think of something to say that would be truthful enough to prevent the hives but still wouldn’t betray the full range of her emotions. She didn’t know entirely how she felt about Jane yet—after all, they’d known one another for a relatively short period of time—but she was beginning to think it might be the same sort of feeling she had had for Charlotte. Which meant that she had to be very careful. The way Jane looked at her seemed affectionate…

But Maura didn’t act on suppositions. She acted on _facts_. And the fact was, she had no idea what it meant when Jane fixed the intensity of her brown-eyed gaze on Maura. It was possible—probable, if she was being completely honest with herself—that Jane was like this with everyone, that Maura was not at all special. In which case, the best strategy would be to play this off casually.

She settled on something suitably vague, but still true: “There aren’t many women like you back home.”

“I’m sure there aren’t,” Jane said, but she didn’t ask again, seeming to understand that Maura was hesitant to give her a real answer.

Maura was grateful that she’d decided not to push it further; maybe someday they’d have that conversation, but now was not the right time. She watched for a moment as Jane toyed with the hem on one of her sleeves before redirecting the conversation.

“So did you want to hear my thoughts on the case?”

Jane looked up. “Yeah, of course.”

Maura nodded, hating the fact that this was even close to a guess. At least it was a distraction from the question Jane had just asked her; though she’d rather not have to speculate about anything—a murderer’s motives _or_ Jane’s feelings for her—she supposed that if she had to choose, in this moment she’d elect to theorize about the former.

“Well,” she said carefully, “upon closer examination of the victim’s injuries, I believe I may have found a reasonable explanation for the post-mortem stab wound. The contusions appear to have been made by relatively small hands; I believe the stab wound may have been intended to conceal that fact. The killer may have assumed that no one would look closely enough to determine a cause of death other than the obvious.”

Maura could see Jane’s brain working a hundred miles a minute before she arrived at the same conclusion Maura herself had come to.

“So you’re saying our killer is a woman?”

“I’m not saying that for sure.” Maura couldn’t bring herself to fully commit to the conclusion without stronger evidence. “But I am saying it’s a possibility.”

Jane frowned. “There aren’t any female outlaws active near Echo Station that I’m aware of.”

“It’s also possible that the killer is male, with a relatively slight stature,” Maura suggested.

“But if you had to guess?”

“ _Jane_.” Maura gave her an exasperated look, only to find Jane watching her with a teasing grin that indicated she was just trying to give Maura a hard time. “Very funny, Sheriff Rizzoli.”

“Oh, so we’re back to last names now, huh?”

Maura couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I have no idea what that means, so I’m just gonna take it as a compliment.” Jane suddenly sprang up from her seat on the rock, holding out a hand to Maura. “Enough talking about work. We can get back to that tomorrow.”

Maura took her hand and let Jane lead her to the river’s edge, looking wistfully at the water. For the first time that evening, she wished she’d worn something just _slightly_ more practical.

“We can go swimming another time,” Jane suggested with a shrug, picking up Maura’s expression. “Come on, let’s just sit on the bank.”

They settled down next to each other on the grassy bank, with Maura strategically arranging her skirts to be sure they didn’t get muddy. Jane, on the other hand, had no such qualms. She immediately kicked off her boots, and Maura followed suit, carefully removing her leather heels, which had a row of shiny black buttons up the side. Placing them at a safe distance from the rushing water, Maura pulled off her stockings and dipped her toes in the water—only to pull them back immediately at the shock of the cold water.

Jane laughed, plunging her feet into the river without the slightest hesitation. “What, the water too cold for you?”

“It was a bit unexpected,” Maura admitted, gingerly lowering her feet back down and into the water again. This time, she didn’t recoil, though a slight shiver ran through her body.

“It’s because of the snowmelt.”

“From the Sierra Nevada?”

Jane nodded. “It doesn’t snow too much here in the winter, it mostly just rains. But the mountain passes get several feet.” She shivered. “I sure wouldn’t wanna get caught up there during a storm.”

Maura wouldn’t, either; she’d heard the horror stories of wagon trains entering the mountains and getting lost, although those sorts of accidents had been much more common twenty years ago than they were now. Clearly, California wasn’t just a land of sunshine and fortune. The mountains were vicious and unforgiving to careless travelers.

“Have you heard of the Donner-Reed Party?” she asked.

“Who hasn’t?” Jane shook her head with a heavy sigh. “What a disaster.”

“That must’ve been a year or two before your family moved out here, right?”

“Careful, Dr. Isles, that sounds dangerously close to a guess.” Jane gave her a roguish grin. “But as it turns out, you’re correct.”

Maura bit her lip, trying to imagine what it must have been like—eighty-seven people trapped in below-freezing temperatures, with dwindling supplies and tensions already running high in the group. It had snowed twenty-three feet that winter, and only slightly more than half of the party had made it out alive. Not for the first time, Maura was glad she’d had the fortune to be coming to California by railway rather than wagon train—the Pacific Railroad certainly made the trip far less dangerous, not to mention much faster.

When she’d told her mother she intended to go to California, Constance had brought up the Donner Party as a cautionary tale; Maura remembered the exact tone of her mother’s voice as she’d asked just why, exactly, Maura insisted on putting herself in harm’s way if it was so easily avoidable. Why couldn’t she just put her skills to good use in Boston, where there were decent amenities and, more importantly, civilized _people_?

Maura hadn’t had a good answer for her then, at least not an answer she could say aloud without sounding selfish and ungrateful. She knew she’d been lucky; growing up as a member of the Isles family, she’d been very privileged. Maura had never wanted for anything as a child, and as an adult, she’d mostly had the freedom to do as she’d pleased. But it had always felt like something was missing. Was it so wrong for her to want _more_ than she could aspire to in Boston?

From a young age, Maura had known she never wanted to be a housewife or a nurse or schoolteacher or even an artist like her mother, who was really only a housewife with a hobby, after all. As soon as she married, Maura would have had nothing of her own anymore; everything would have been erased and given over to her husband. And so she’d made the decision to go to medical school and support herself, but when even that hadn’t made people take her seriously, she’d known she had to leave. Maura Isles was determined to be the best; in Boston, no one would offer her that opportunity. She wondered a little what it would have been like to grow up somewhere else—maybe here, as Jane had. How different would her life be now?

In a contemplative tone, she asked, “What was it like, coming out here?”

Jane shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t remember it very well. I rode in the wagon a lot of the way, I think, and helped Ma with Frankie and Tommy. But it kinda just seems like I’ve always…”

But Maura’s attention had been captured by something strange floating down the river toward them. At first she thought it was a particularly large piece of driftwood, but as it drifted closer to their position, Maura’s stomach sank. Tapping Jane’s shoulder to get her attention, Maura gestured toward the shape, biting her lip.

“Jane…”

The shape drifting downstream toward them was not a log but rather something far more sinister—a body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two really can't catch a break, huh?! Up next we've got: unsavory characters, outlaw gangs, and, most importantly, some more flirting over dead bodies. Because let's be real, that's what Jane and Maura do best.


	6. stab wounds and saloon girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because apparently I'm very bad at keeping chapter lengths consistent, here is another hella long chapter! Featuring the aforementioned flirting over an autopsy table, more of Maura's medical jargon, and the reappearance of a familiar face. Hope y'all enjoy. :D  
> Also, a content warning: this chapter is more violent than the previous ones, about the level of what's shown in canon.

Not for the first time in the past week, Jane found herself standing opposite Maura across the autopsy table, the both of them lit by the eerie flickering of a kerosene lamp.

“Why can’t these things ever happen in daylight?” Jane muttered under her breath.

What a night it had been. As though the stress of having Maura over to dinner for the first time wasn’t enough, a dead body had had to come floating down the stream right when she was finally starting to enjoy herself. Too bad it hadn’t interrupted the disaster that had been dinner.

“Well, logically speaking, it makes the most sense for criminals to conduct most of their activity at night,” Maura said, sounding chipper even as she peeled back the soaking wet clothes from the dead woman’s body. “The lack of light makes it much easier to escape the detection of law enforcement.”

“Thanks _ever_ so much for that highly unnecessary information,” Jane sniped. The sarcasm wasn’t out of annoyance tonight so much as Jane’s inability to keep herself from making biting remarks even when she was in a good mood. “That was a rhetorical question, Maura.”

Maura blinked. “Oh.”

“So…” When Maura didn’t say anything else, Jane gestured at the body. “Any idea what killed her yet?”

“Floaters are a unique challenge,” Maura said, frowning down at the table. “It’s very hard to determine a time and cause of death with any real accuracy.”

She’d managed to rid the dead woman of most of her clothing and cover her lower half with a sheet, revealing a puncture wound on the right side of the chest. Protruding from the wound was a wooden-handled object; Maura lifted the kerosene lamp to get a better view, bending down to study the juncture between flesh and metal.

Even if Maura wouldn’t guess, it seemed pretty damn obvious to Jane that they’d found their murder weapon.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna say it was probably _that_ ,” Jane said, then added, “Given that there aren’t any contusions on her neck that I can see.”

Maura had been studying the body intensely, but she looked up at Jane’s words, fixing the sheriff with wide eyes and a hint of a smile on her lips. She looked a bit ridiculous standing there in her shiny green gown—the two of them hadn’t had time to change, which meant Jane was still wearing her aggravating mass of petticoats—but somehow she still seemed completely self-possessed and graceful. Goddamn. It really just wasn’t fair how Maura could manage to look elegant even while dressed in evening wear and standing over a dead body with a dissecting hook in her hand.

Jane couldn’t help but call her out. “What’s that look for?”

She had asked the same thing back at the river, but she’d sensed that Maura hadn’t wanted to give her a real answer then; Jane knew she probably wouldn’t answer now, either. But Jane privately had her suspicions as to Maura’s intentions, as any sheriff worth her salt would.

“You _do_ listen when I talk.”

Jane fought back the blush she could feel rising to her cheeks. Now was _not_ the time. So what if she paid attention to the random fun facts Maura seemed to spout at any opportunity? They were interesting, that was all. Not that Jane had ever really cared about medical terminology or the history of potatoes before, but she supposed it couldn’t hurt to broaden her horizons.

“Yes, I do listen,” she admitted, turning her face away from Maura and hoping the angle and lack of light would be enough to hide her expression. “ _Anyway_. If she wasn’t strangled, I’m assuming she was killed by taking a”—Jane bent closer, examining the weapon—“an _ice pick_ to the chest?”

Jane reached out a hand to touch the ice pick, but Maura batted it away with a stern look.

“We can remove it, but we have to be careful.”

“So we don’t disturb the wound?”

“Very astute.”

Crossing the room, Maura walked over to a large cabinet and pulled out a pair of long black gloves, slipping them on before rejoining Jane at the autopsy table. They were simple leather, but still elegantly tailored to Maura’s hands; Jane somehow had the feeling that Maura had had them designed especially for this purpose, which made her smirk a little. Only Dr. Isles would have custom-made gloves for doing autopsies. As Jane watched, the doctor took hold of the ice pick, smoothly removing it from the body before setting it carefully on a side table.

Jane stayed silent for the next few minutes, just letting Maura work in peace. There was something almost relaxing about watching her; even to Jane’s frankly uneducated eye, it was clear that Maura was very good at what she did. Her face was serious, and she was very obviously thorough as she worked over the body with a careful precision to her movements. If she minded that Jane was there, she didn’t say so; her attention was wholly focused on the task in front of her. Jane couldn’t help but admire the steely concentration in Maura’s eyes and the way there wasn’t even a bit of hesitation in her examination.

It was a while before Maura straightened up, laying the dissection hook to the side and crossing the room to carefully scrub the blood from her gloves. Though the black leather hid the bloodstains well, Maura was as meticulous in her washing as Jane had noticed she was in every part of her life. She watched as Maura carefully draped the gloves over the edge of a chair to dry before returning to the autopsy table to pull the sheet up and over the body.

“So do we have a cause of death?” Jane asked immediately, eager to get somewhere with this case.

Maura nodded, looking sure of herself. “Injuries to the thoracic region, beginning with a traumatic pneumothorax. In other words, she was killed by a puncture wound to the right superior pulmonary lobe, causing a collapse of the right lung. The ice pick also punctured the superior vena cava, leading to the accumulation of blood in the pleural cavity, which is known as a hemothorax.”

Jane had no idea what half of the words that had just come out of Maura’s mouth actually meant, but she thought she’d gotten the big picture: the ice pick was definitely their murder weapon.

“Anything else?” Maybe Maura would actually translate her explanation into normal human English this time, Jane thought wryly.

“The wound is in a very strategic position. The collapsed lung alone would be unlikely to kill the victim quickly, but the severed vein caused extensive internal bleeding. Whoever did this was either extremely lucky or knew exactly where to place the ice pick.” Maura paused. “The killer likely has precise knowledge of human anatomy.”

Jane’s stomach twisted itself into a knot at Maura’s words, instantly reminded of a certain serial killer with a medical degree who was locked up in this very building. She could hear her own pulse rushing in her ears, but she pushed down the feeling. Maybe she’d do best to take a leaf out of Maura’s book and not jump to conclusions.

“No signs of strangulation?” she asked, just to be sure. She didn’t see anything on the body, but she trusted Maura’s expertise more than her own eyes.

Maura lifted the dead woman’s hair, which dripped limply onto the surface of the table, revealing her neck. “The tissue is well-preserved, so I would expect contusions if she’d been strangled. There are none, which makes me confident in saying that this woman was definitely killed using the ice pick. The angle of entry and wound placement to the right side of her body suggest that the killer was either left-handed or approached her from the side.”

That was puzzling. Jane bit her lip, trying to put the pieces together. Hoyt wasn’t left-handed, but he did have the necessary medical knowledge. Then again, Hoyt was also locked up in a cell across the building, and nothing indicated that he’d been able to break out. Still, Jane couldn’t rule out the possibility of an apprentice or another member of Hoyt’s gang.

“How long do you think she’s been dead?” she asked.

Jane could see Maura hesitate at the question and guessed—how ironic—that Maura was reluctant to theorize. With anyone else, Jane would’ve pushed it; truth be told, it wasn’t like Jane to hold back in pursuit of a clue that could crack a case. But she couldn’t help but want to be gentle with Maura, especially after she’d given her such a hard time over Danielle’s autopsy.

“It doesn’t have to be exact, I just need a window,” Jane said gently, hoping it would be enough to coax Maura into at least a _little_ guesswork.

Maura nodded. “Like I said, anything involving water is difficult. But based on the level of tissue decay, I don’t think it’s been long since she was killed. At most, twenty-four hours.”

Jane bit her lip. “Well, that would explain why no one has reported her missing.”

“Do you have any idea who she is?”

“Not a name, no.” Jane sighed heavily, absentmindedly chewing her bottom lip until she tasted the heavy iron flavor of blood. “But she’s more than likely one of the saloon girls. I’ll visit the local brothel in the morning and see if any of the women are missing.”

“I can come with you if you’d like,” Maura offered.

Jane looked away from the body and up at Maura, surprised. “You don’t have to. I can take Frost or Frankie.”

“I know.” For some reason, Maura wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I want to come.”

“Why?”

Jane’s mind dutifully searched for theories, but as was becoming all too common recently, she drew a blank. Maura seemed to be yet another puzzle that Jane couldn’t solve, though certainly a much less lethal (and more attractive, some little part of her brain whispered) challenge than her sheriff’s casework.

There was no good motivation for Maura to accompany her the next day, truthfully, at least none that Jane could see. At the brothel, they’d almost certainly have their suspicions confirmed—which would mean more distraught young women to comfort, and Jane no nearer to closing this case. Though she hadn’t known Maura long, Jane did know the doctor well enough to know that she was far more comfortable around the dead than the living; Maura simply didn’t seem the type to want to come face to face with a victim’s loved ones. Frankly, Jane didn’t love that part, either. It had never been the highlight of her career to have to tell a weeping widow that her husband had been the latest casualty in a saloon brawl. But at least bar gunfights were senseless violence; these murders felt deliberate.

She didn’t realize how close Maura had gotten until the doctor was right beside her, laying a gentle hand on Jane’s shoulder. Ordinarily, Jane would’ve shrugged off the touch; she wasn’t the type to need comforting. She’d rather deal with the problem however she could—whether that meant solving it with her pistol and fists or simply having a few glasses of whiskey until she could forget her troubles for a while. There was no use dwelling in emotion when action could fix things perfectly well. Now, though, she found herself curiously frozen. Part of her wanted to flinch away from Maura’s touch before she let herself be too vulnerable, but something deeper made it impossible for her to pull away.

“You seem like you could use the support,” Maura murmured. Her eyes were piercing, glowing with the reflection of the kerosene flame. “Something about this case is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t a case like this bother anyone?” Jane tried to deflect, but Maura was still looking at her with those thoughtful eyes, and she could feel something inside of her seize up.

“Of course. But this seems personal.”

“Yeah, it _is_ personal.” Jane bit her lip again, wincing when her teeth encountered the already-raw flesh. “Every day that I fail to catch this killer is another day that I fail the town I’m supposed to protect.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was as close to the truth as Jane was willing to get. Besides, given how adeptly she’d avoided Jane’s question down by the river, Maura clearly had secrets of her own; it was only fair that Jane got to have a few herself. Maura didn’t need to know about Hoyt. Not even Frost, Frankie, and Abby knew the full story of what had happened that night; the only person who did was Korsak, and Jane trusted him not to tell.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“I’m sure,” Jane said with a tone of finality. “But you can come along tomorrow if you’d like. I’ll walk you home?”

Maura nodded. “That would be lovely.”

*

Jane showed up at Maura’s house soon after sunrise the next morning. She hadn’t intended to get there quite so early, but then she’d had one of her nightmares and hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. As soon as the sun had risen, she’d made her way next door, where she paced on the doorstep debating whether to wake Dr. Isles.

The nightmare… it had been one of the typical awful ones, only this time with a new (and spectacularly terrible) twist. It had begun with Jane lying on the cold dirt floor of the barn, her hands pinned down on either side of her. Her nightmares of Hoyt always began that way, like waking up a second time—Jane fell asleep at home, safe with her pistol tucked under her pillow, and woke to the horror of the dream the same way she’d come to in Hoyt’s barn on that chill spring night.

Everything faded in gradually: the high beams of the barn above her, the tears tracking their way across her cheeks, the shadowed snarl of Hoyt’s pale, waxy face staring down at her. Even the pain didn’t fully register at first, until Jane turned her head both ways and saw the thin blades protruding from the palms of her hands. She didn’t know why she looked every time—she always knew what she would see, but somehow she could never tear her eyes away. The blood trickled darkly over her palms and between her fingers, coating the dusty ground, and that was when the pain really hit—a gut-wrenching sort of agony that Jane’s mind couldn’t even quite process. And then:

“Ah,” Hoyt said, with a veneer of civility, those empty eyes staring her down, “you’re awake.”

That was when she screamed. Jane couldn’t help herself; she remembered the way she’d bitten through her lip when it had actually happened, as though by keeping her mouth shut she could keep the pain inside, but she failed every time. It was too much for her body, too much for her mind.

In the dream, she had a clarity she hadn’t had in real life: she felt the pain as if it were real, but she could also see herself as if from far away, lying there, pinned and vulnerable and weak. She could hear the terrified whimper escape her lips and the sound of Hoyt’s laughter, cold and restrained, as he took another knife and traced it lightly across her throat.

And she could hear the muffled groan of Hoyt’s other hostage, Karenna, somewhere in a darkened corner of the room. Jane always felt a crushing sense of failure then, knowing there was nothing she could do. She knew what would happen next, because it was always the same: Hoyt would leave Jane alone for a moment, drag Karenna out from the shadows and make her beg for mercy. She would fall to her knees in front of him, groveling, sobbing, but it was never enough. Night after night, Hoyt slit her throat, taunting Jane, goading her, asking why didn’t she come over and save Karenna, wasn’t that her job, wasn’t she supposed to stop him?

And then, just as Hoyt was coming back towards Jane with that knife again, Korsak burst in, guns blazing. Hoyt sprang out of the way, reaching for his own gun, holding it behind his back. Jane tried to warn Korsak, but it was too late every time. She watched Hoyt’s bullet embed itself in Korsak’s thigh as he threw himself at Hoyt, his fist colliding with the outlaw’s head and knocking him out.

What Jane hated most was how fucking relieved she felt when it was over, how glad she was to be alive despite everything it had cost. She shouldn’t be able to be happy. It felt selfish, feeling any sort of relief at all, because it was too late for Karenna. It was too late to save Korsak from developing the limp that had ended his career. And maybe if Jane had been more careful, if she’d done things differently and heeded Korsak’s advice not to go after Hoyt alone, no one else would have had to pay the price for her mistakes. On the nights when Jane’s self-hatred was at its strongest, she wondered if these dreams were her punishment for being the one who lived.

Last night, however, the dream had gone differently. Hoyt had run the knife over Jane’s throat the way he always did, but when he’d gone to retrieve the hostage, it hadn’t been Karenna anymore. Instead, it was Maura kneeling there in front of her, bound but still looking at Jane with something like hope in her eyes. She’d looked at Jane like she trusted the sheriff to save her, but Jane had only been able to watch helplessly as Hoyt killed her, too. Maura’s eyes haunted Jane as she watched the doctor bleed out in front of her, and she’d woken up tangled in her sheets, nightshirt soaked with sweat.

Needless to say, she hadn’t managed to get much sleep after that. She’d tossed and turned for hours just thinking about it, deliberating with herself on whether to go next door to Maura’s and check that she was alright. Jane knew it was ridiculous, but seeing Maura alive and well was the only thing that could erase the image she’d had of dream-Maura’s body slumping down to the desolate floor of that barn. Eventually, Jane had settled on waiting to go next door until after the sun had risen. Maura was fine; it was only a dream, and Jane shouldn’t wake the doctor in the middle of the night just to put her overactive mind at ease.

Now, standing on Maura’s doorstep, Jane hesitated to knock on the door. She told herself it was only that she felt bad about waking Maura up so early, but there was a part of her that knew the truth. Either Maura would open the door, or she wouldn’t. Jane was still half-afraid she’d find Maura on her bedroom floor, a shattered teacup next to her body and her white nightdress soaked through with blood.

Steeling herself, Jane lifted her hand and rapped sharply on the wooden door. She thought she could hear movement from inside the house, but as the seconds ticked away, the knot of worry in her stomach began to twist itself tighter.

But then the door was swinging open, and—

“Jane?”

—Maura was standing there in front of her, blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

Relief instantly rose in Jane’s chest, flooding her body with an almost painful warmth. She was sure some of her emotion must show on her face, but she didn’t know how to compose herself. For a moment she just stood and stared at Maura, taking her in: the confused expression on her face, the barely-awake flush that lit her cheeks, the silkiness of her ruffled nightgown. 

Then Maura frowned. “Are you alright?”

Jane’s immediate instinct was to throw up her guard, but she forced herself to take a deep breath instead. How could she lie to Maura when Maura was incapable of lying to her? There seemed to be something unfair in deliberately misleading her, especially when Maura had never been anything but kind to Jane.

“No,” she admitted. “Uh, I know it’s early, but can I come in?”

Thankfully, Maura didn’t ask any more questions. She just stepped to the side, gesturing for Jane to enter the house and leading her into the main room. It was a simple space; Jane had been there a few times before, back when Dr. Pike had lived in this house, but she’d made a point not to stay long. Pike had been a fine doctor, but an absolutely insufferable human being.

The room had changed greatly since the last time she’d been there, and Jane wondered how it was that the house already felt like it belonged to Maura. It was the same old furniture, but Maura had rearranged it in a way that made the room feel open and modern. A large tapestry—at least that was what Jane thought it was—adorned the far wall, giving the room a pop of patterned color. The walls were hung with a few photos and a couple of (frankly frightening) tribal masks, which stared down over the room with a hollow-eyed gaze. Though Jane wondered why on earth the doctor had them, she found herself not at all surprised. The décor was very Maura.

“Can I get you anything?” Maura asked gently, drawing Jane’s attention back to her. She looked soft in the early morning light, which filtered in through a large window at the far side of the room. Jane’s eyes instinctively ran over Maura’s body as though checking that she was still whole, and she felt slightly less uneasy when she concluded that the doctor really was fine.

“I’m alright, but thanks.” Though Jane was still on edge, she didn’t know how to express that without feeling painfully vulnerable. “I was thinking about stopping by the diner and getting some coffee before we start the day. Do you wanna come?”

Maura nodded. “Just let me get dressed.”

“Of course.” Jane fiddled with her badge where it was pinned to her lapel, too restless to make use of any of the wooden chairs in the room. Maura had put cushions on them, she noticed; it was certainly an upgrade from Pike’s spare, almost inhuman style. The house finally felt as though someone lived in it.

Walking across the room, Jane examined a silver-framed photo that had been hung on the wall. Though it felt almost as though she were snooping, she simply couldn’t help herself; if there was one word that described Jane, it was curious. (Well, and maybe stubborn, at least if anyone asked her Ma.) The photograph showed a young girl, maybe ten years old, sitting in a studio with a man and woman. Jane was willing to bet that it was a portrait of Maura with her parents.

So she was an only child, then. And her parents looked quite, well… _stuffy_ was the word Jane might use. Even Maura, sitting stiffly in a lace-necked dress, stared at the camera with a somber look that made a stark contrast to the always-sunny attitude Jane was used to now.

She reached out to lightly trace a finger down the glass, outlining the little shapes of the people underneath. The photo was only a snapshot of Maura’s childhood, but it was enough for Jane to realize what a different life the doctor must’ve had, growing up in a rich Boston family. She’d probably attended cotillion and learned how to embroider. It wasn’t hard for Jane to picture teenage Maura in a frothy white ballgown, being whisked across the dance floor by some handsome gent in a suit.

Meanwhile, Jane had spent her childhood in trousers and boys’ shoes, getting muddy in the river with her brothers and sneaking outdoors at night to make mischief around town. Though her Ma had tried to teach her how to cook and clean and sew, Jane had always preferred the more rough-and-tumble activities. She’d ridden to Aurora by herself for the first time at the age of thirteen (and endured the resulting lecture from her mother when she’d gotten back late the next evening) and had become a deputy at seventeen—the youngest on the force, and the first woman.

By all accounts, she and Maura should’ve had nothing in common. And yet here she was, standing inside the doctor’s home with an odd fluttering in her chest and the sense that as much as she already knew about Maura, she couldn’t help but want to know more.

She was startled by a call from the other room that made her jump slightly. God, she really was losing her edge.

“Jane, would you mind helping me lace my corset?”

“Uh, sure.” Tearing herself away from the photo, Jane turned the corner and almost bumped right into Maura, who was standing just inside the door of her bedroom.

She was in a half-dressed state, with her crinoline, petticoats, and chemise already in place; a silky blue gown was arrayed on the bed, which had been neatly made. The dress was far fancier than anything Jane would’ve worn even to a dance, but then, that was just Maura. Jane hadn’t seen her in anything less than a full gown since the bloomers she’d worn on the way back from Aurora, though she was still convinced she’d eventually get Maura to let loose. Where was the fun in being so buttoned-up all the time?

“Trying to win another pageant today?” Jane teased, feeling instantly satisfied at Maura’s fond smile. “Hate to break it to ya, honey, but I don’t think you’ve gotta try so hard when there’s no competition.”

She wasn’t sure why the term of endearment slipped out; Jane wasn’t much for pet names, but it somehow felt right. Refusing to overthink it, she cleared her throat and gestured at Maura’s clothing.

“What do you need me for?”

“Just to lace up the back.” Maura beamed at her, turning around so that Jane could tighten the laces.

Jane couldn’t help but poke a little fun at her, even as she began doing up the laces. “Used to having someone else dress you, huh, Dr. Isles?”

“On the contrary, I have always been quite able to dress myself.”

“So why am I here, then?” When Maura didn’t answer, Jane felt a slight smirk come to her face. “Come on, Maura. Unless you’re afraid to answer the question.”

“I’m not afraid,” Maura said, in the same tone of voice Jane was used to hearing from suspects she was interrogating. There was a hint of a laugh underneath it, though, which told Jane that although Maura was hesitant to answer her question, she wasn’t _really_ afraid.

She leaned in closer so that her head was almost resting on Maura’s shoulder, their cheeks nearly brushing. “Then answer the question.”

Jane could feel Maura holding herself still; her only movement was her breath, which was rapid and shallow. Whether that was from Jane’s proximity or the restrictive corset, Jane could only guess. Thankfully, unlike Maura, Jane had no problem with guessing—and her current theory was that it was the former.

“The lace got caught,” Maura murmured. “I needed assistance untangling it.”

Almost as soon as she said it, Jane could see a pink flush creep into Maura’s cheeks. It didn’t stop there, though. After a few seconds, the back of Maura’s neck grew blotchy and pink, which was a bit concerning until Jane remembered what Maura had said the previous night. Her eyes widened as it dawned on her.

“You weren’t kidding, you really _are_ allergic to lying!”

Maura gave her a look that suggested she wasn’t finding it quite so hilarious. “Yes, I told you that.”

Jane would’ve felt bad if the whole thing weren’t so damn funny. Even biting her lip to keep herself from laughing, she couldn’t help the delight that spread across her face. Maura, for her part, turned away with a huff and made as if to pick up her dress.

“Wait, I’m not done yet,” Jane told her through fits of laughter. “You’ve gotta come back so I can get the top.”

“If I’d known it would lead to this, I wouldn’t have asked for your help.” Maura rolled her eyes but stepped back towards Jane, looking at the sheriff over her shoulder with a challenge in her eyes. “Besides, I wouldn’t have expected you to have much experience helping ladies with their corsets.”

Maura probably only meant that Jane hated corsets and had no sisters she would’ve had to help, but Jane’s mind couldn’t help but read into the question.

“And you help ladies with their corsets all the time, do you?” She knew she was verging on dangerous territory, but Jane couldn’t help herself. It might go over Maura’s head completely anyway; at worst, she could play off the comment as a joke.

“Well—no, not _all_ the time—just—” Maura stammered, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink. Clearly, she understood exactly what Jane had implied.

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you’re the one underestimating me this time.”

She finished with the top lace, tying it in a neat bow before taking Maura by the shoulders and spinning the doctor around to face her.

“I… Jane, are you implying…?” Maura was still at a loss for words, blinking those gorgeous hazel eyes of hers in something between confusion and inquiry.

For a moment, Jane wanted to just come out and say it, but then she got ahold of herself. It was too risky; maybe Maura didn’t mean what Jane thought she did. Besides, Jane didn’t know what she wanted to happen, not really. The last time they’d had an honest conversation, Clara had said Jane should do some thinking on it, come back around when she was sure of herself. Not that Jane had made much of an effort to think about it since then, considering she’d been pretty busy dealing with all of the other bullshit in her life.

“What do you think I was wearing under my dress last night?” Jane asked, deflecting the conversation to something safer. “Of course I know how corsets work. We’re not complete heathens out here, you know. At least not if Ma has any say.”

The look on Maura’s face suggested that she might be thinking about what, exactly, Jane had been wearing underneath that dress last night. It probably should have bothered Jane, but instead, it immediately sent a dangerous shiver of desire down her spine. For a moment she thought Maura might actually say something, but that hungry look was gone so quickly that Jane almost felt she’d imagined it.

Maura blinked, her expression reverting to that ever-cheerful mask she put on around everyone. Jane hadn’t really seen it crack yet, except maybe in the quietest moments they’d spent together—during Maura’s concentration as she bent over the autopsy table, riding into town on Herschel, sitting together on the riverbank. Before the dead body had floated downstream to ruin the moment, of course. It seemed Jane wasn’t the only one hiding her thoughts from the outside world; though Maura appeared more open, she, too, was guarded.

“Alright, well, if you’ll give me a hand with the dress, we can get the day started,” the doctor said, her tone strictly professional now. Jane felt a little pang of regret at the sudden shift in Maura’s voice, but she just nodded, helping Maura arrange the voluminous skirts of her dress.

When they’d finished, Maura straightened up, giving her another sunny smile. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculously overdressed. I’m telling you, pants are the way to go.” Not that Maura didn’t look amazing the way she was, but Jane couldn’t help but tease. She grinned. “Now come on, the day doesn’t really start ‘til you’ve had a coffee at the Sunrise Diner.”

*

Roughly one hour later, Jane and Maura were walking through town on their way to Madame Lola’s brothel, a garishly decorated building at the end of town farthest from the river. Though she generally didn’t have much of an opinion about design, Jane had always thought the decorations were in poor taste; the wooden structure was painted in lurid yellows and reds, with the words “Madame Lola’s” written in an awful script over the front door. What was inside was equally as horrible—some brothels were respectable, but Madame Lola’s establishment was no such place. Jane knew how terribly the women who worked there were treated; unfortunately, she was powerless to do anything about it under California law. The best thing she could do was send a deputy to check in periodically.

The house was quiet as they approached, but Maura was already talking at a hundred miles per minute. Truth be told, Jane had tuned her out when they’d passed the post office and Maura had launched into an explanation of the particular methods used to roast, process, and package coffee beans. Though Jane was sure Arbuckle coffee was a ‘fascinating enterprise’ (as Maura had put it), the sheriff was too busy thinking through the details of the case to bother with anything else.

They came to an abrupt halt in front of the brothel’s doors, where Jane turned to Maura with a look that immediately shut off the doctor’s chatter.

“Right,” she said. “Just let me do the talking, okay?”

When Maura nodded, Jane lifted her hand and rapped loudly on the front doors. It wasn’t long before the sound of footsteps could be heard from inside, and the scarlet-painted double doors swung open to reveal a familiar face.

“Natalie,” Jane said warmly, recognizing the girl immediately. Thankfully, she looked far better than she had the last time Jane had seen her—her eyes were clear and bright, and her smile seemed genuine.

“Sheriff Rizzoli, it’s nice to see you.”

“You too.” Jane gestured to Maura, who was standing silently at her side. “Natalie, this is Dr. Isles.”

When Maura didn’t immediately speak to introduce herself, Jane turned toward her and found Maura staring at her with a look almost as though she were asking for permission. Jane wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed or amused—Maura was such an obviously smart person that Jane almost felt like the doctor was pulling her leg sometimes with this cluelessness. Apparently it wasn’t an act, though, just one of Maura’s many quirks.

Jane sighed, rolling her eyes. “Maura, I didn’t mean you couldn’t talk at all.”

“Oh.” Maura looked perplexed for a moment before turning to Natalie with one of her trademark friendly smiles. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Natalie is a friend of Danielle’s,” Jane clarified.

Upon hearing her friend’s name, Natalie bit her lip, looking downcast. “Did you catch the guy who killed her?”

Jane felt a little pang of guilt, but she forced it down in the name of professionalism. “Not yet, but we’re following up on a new lead. Is Madame Lola in? We’d like to speak with her.”

“I think she’s sleeping, but I can go see.” Natalie looked apologetic. “It might be a few minutes.”

“That’s alright, we’ll wait.”

Natalie opened the door wider, allowing Jane and Maura to enter the lobby of the building. It appeared to be a typical saloon, with a bar at the far side of the room and a variety of chairs positioned around gambling tables. Luxurious plush sofas sat in the corners of the room, and a grand staircase led up to the second level of the building. It was up this staircase that Natalie scurried after telling Jane and Maura to make themselves comfortable.

Jane pulled out a chair for Maura, who gave her a gracious nod, before taking a seat in the chair across from her, trying not to think too hard about who had probably sat there before her. Drumming her fingers impatiently on the wooden tabletop, she let her eyes flicker around the room. Everything looked on the up-and-up, at least as far as Jane could see on a surface level. She was sure that the brothel’s back rooms and living quarters would tell a different story, though; after all, this lobby was meant to be appealing to the paying customers who frequented the place. There was no such motivation for Madame Lola to treat the women well once they were away from the prying eyes of the public.

“The word sofa dates back to 2000 BC,” Maura remarked after a moment’s silence. “It originated from the Arabic word ‘suffa,’ meaning bench, and was then brought to the English language via French.”

Jane snorted. “I should start timing how long you can last without telling someone a fun fact.”

“Well, you’d need a suitable time-telling device to do that,” Maura challenged.

“No problem,” Jane said, pulling out a silver pocket watch from her left pocket. It had been her father’s; though she didn’t like to think of him often after what he’d done, there was some small, sentimental part of her that hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it.

“Did you know that pocket watches were invented by Peter Henlein in—” Maura began before abruptly cutting herself off as a slightly embarrassed look of realization crossed her face. “Oh.”

Jane could hardly stifle her laughter. Making fun of Maura was just too easy sometimes.

“I wasn’t looking at my watch, but I’m gonna guess that was less than thirty seconds.”

“I’d really prefer you didn’t guess.”

Of course the _guessing_ was what she was concerned with. “I think you’re missing the point, Maura.”

“Is there a point? It seems like a rather point _less_ exercise to me, especially if you insist on being unscientific and refusing to document the exact intervals.”

“You know me, I just _looove_ drawing conclusions based on a complete lack of evidence,” Jane drawled, almost entirely to get a rise out of Maura. It would have worked, too—Jane could see Maura begin to open her mouth, probably to spout something absurdly technical—but they were interrupted by the return of Natalie, who was now accompanied by Madame Lola and another young woman hovering behind the madame with a worried look in her eyes.

“Sheriff Rizzoli,” Lola said, gliding down the stairs with a practiced grace. Despite the kind of establishment she ran, Lola was the sort of woman who oozed poise and class. She was young, probably a few years younger than Jane, and pretty in an angular sort of way. Her gown was almost as fine as the one Maura wore, and her brown hair was glossy and well-groomed. Lola’s perfectly pink lips curved up at the edges, eyes glittering blue in the early morning light.

“Madame Lola.” Jane gave her a terse nod, stiffening when the other woman leaned in close to kiss each of her cheeks. A faintly floral scent clung to her, along with the aroma of pine and something sour—citrus, maybe.

Lola’s tone was as smooth and composed as ever. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, first of all, I’d like to offer my condolences for the loss of Danielle Davis.”

“A shame.” Something like sadness flickered across Lola’s face. “Danielle’s death was truly a loss to us all.”

 _And to your pocketbook most of all, I’m sure_. Jane bit back the words before they could slip off her tongue. She’d never liked Lola much, but she couldn’t let her personal opinions influence her work. Now was the time to play nice.

“And who have you brought along with you?” Lola asked, casting her blue-eyed gaze on Maura.

Jane immediately prickled. She did _not_ like the way Lola was looking at Maura, eyeing the doctor as though she were a piece of meat rather than a person. Before she could say anything, however, Maura had already stepped forward, reaching out a hand toward Lola in a friendly gesture.

“I’m Dr. Maura Isles. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Trust me, the pleasure is _all_ mine,” Lola all but purred, extending her left arm towards Maura and grasping the doctor’s outstretched hand. Instead of giving a handshake, however, she bent her head to kiss the back of Maura’s hand, lingering there long enough to make Jane’s blood boil.

“Dr. Isles is here to help me investigate,” Jane cut in firmly, glad to see that Maura didn’t look at all taken with the woman. Keeping her tone as professional as possible, she barreled on. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Ask away.” Those blue eyes were fixed on Jane now; there was something warmer behind them, although Jane still got the sense that Lola was sizing her up.

She decided to get straight to the point. “Have any of your other girls have gone missing in the last day?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I don’t think I saw Ruby last night.” Lola frowned, turning back to Natalie and the other girl, who were both standing attentively behind her. “Girls, have either of you seen Ruby?”

Natalie shook her head. “She didn’t come back last night, but we just assumed she was with a client.”

“And you, Susie?”

“No, Madame Lola.” The other girl bit her lip, looking worried.

Jane had a sinking feeling that the identity of the Jane Doe lying on the autopsy table back in the sheriff’s station was no longer a mystery. She drew in a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knew had to come next, and was startled when she felt Maura’s hand land on her arm. Turning slightly, she met the doctor’s eyes. Maura nodded almost imperceptibly, and Jane was surprised at how much she appreciated the subtle support.

“I’m sorry, Madame, but we’ve recovered the body of a young woman who was killed within the past twenty-four hours. It might be Ruby.”

“I see.” Lola’s tone was flat, her face sagging a bit as tears welled up in her eyes. Natalie immediately placed a calming hand on the madame’s back as Lola took in a shuddering breath before looking up at Jane again. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. It’s just that Ruby has been here a long time, and…”

“I know it’s difficult,” Jane said, trying to be gentle. Frankly, she hadn’t expected this degree of empathy from Lola, but maybe Jane had judged the woman slightly too harshly. Ma _did_ say she had a habit of doing that. “Would you mind sending one of your girls along to the station to identify the body?”

“I’ll go,” Susie volunteered, stepping forward. “I knew Ruby well. I’ll be able to tell if it’s her.”

“Thank you.” Jane met the young woman’s eyes and gave Susie her best reassuring smile. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

Lola nodded. She looked pale and frightened now, all of her previous suave façade having fallen away. “I just hope the Doyle gang isn’t active around these parts again. I’m sure you remember what it was like when they were here before, Sheriff. We haven’t had so many killings since those awful days…”

Jane did remember; both Hoyt’s and Doyle’s outlaw gangs had been a fixture of Echo Station since her early twenties, when Doyle had robbed a stagecoach passing through the Nevada desert. Rumor was that Hoyt’s men had pinched the loot and taken it back to Echo Station to avoid federal officials, and Doyle had pursued him, determined to get back what was rightfully his. (Well, what he _thought_ was rightfully his. Whatever had been in that coach had originally been government property.) The days of the gang war between Hoyt and Doyle had been bloody, filled with saloon brawls and shoot-outs in the middle of the street. Jane’s mother had begged her and Frankie to stay out of it, but the Rizzoli siblings didn’t give up that easy. They’d had a duty to take action.

But Doyle’s gang hadn’t been around for several years now, not since they’d found their missing loot and skipped town. Even Hoyt had settled down in the absence of a nemesis, and for a long time, Echo Station had been peaceful. At least until the previous winter, when Hoyt had managed to kidnap and kill several women and their husbands before Jane and Korsak had brought him to justice. Killing women was Hoyt’s style, not Doyle’s—it seemed doubtful that the Doyle gang was back and stirring up trouble again. Until Jane remembered one thing: Doyle’s signature had been to kill his enemies with an ice pick, to send the message that no one messed with the Doyle gang and got away with it.

A chill ran down her spine, and Jane was grateful once more for Maura’s hand on her arm, grounding her.

“If they are back, I’ll bring them to justice,” Jane declared in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “Thank you for your cooperation, Lola. I’ll keep you updated if we find anything new.”


	7. UAGEO—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this one took me a little longer, life has been busy.  
> Welcome to chapter seven, featuring our fave wingman Frost, jealous Maura (this one's for you, Ste3lo), and dance night at the Dirty Robber. This is a slooooow burn, but I promise it'll pay off in the end.  
> Thank y'all for reading and commenting! :D

There were many completely valid explanations for why Maura couldn’t fall asleep.

The lack of ambient urban noise, for instance, was something she still was not quite accustomed to. Not to mention the eerie howls of coyotes that echoed (how fittingly, given the town’s name) through the streets of Echo Station after dark. Their wails sounded almost like the cries of infants and never failed to send chills down Maura’s spine, though Jane had reassured her that coyotes really were quite harmless, provided one didn’t go out of one’s way to interact with them in packs. And how could she forget the most obvious reason of them all: the fact that there was potentially a murderer on the loose somewhere in her vicinity, and Maura had absolutely no self-defense skills to speak of. A thought like that would be enough to keep anyone up at night.

Yes, indeed, those were all quite legitimate causes for insomnia. And yet, none of those things were the one that kept Maura awake and staring at the unfathomable blackness of her bedroom ceiling.

The real reason she couldn’t sleep was _much_ more embarrassing.

Maura rolled over, pressing her face deep into her pillow as if she could smother the images that kept popping into her mind. Namely, the image of one Sheriff Rizzoli giving a wide, genuine smile to one Federal Marshal Dean.

Where had that imbecile even come from? He’d been waiting for them at the sheriff’s station as soon as they’d returned from Madame Lola’s that morning, and Jane had stiffened immediately at the sight of him. She’d been laughing along with Maura just moments before, the two of them talking about everything and nothing as they’d walked through the sunny morning streets. And then _he’d_ been sitting there on the front doorstep of the station, standing up and presenting Jane with a firm handshake. He’d smiled at Maura, too, and at first she hadn’t had a single uncharitable thought towards him. But that was before she’d seen the way Jane looked at him—with a careful kind of fascination in her eyes, like she was admiring the strong angle of his jawline and the ruggedness of his leather boots.

What right did Gabriel Dean have to be athletic and charismatic and witty enough to make Jane laugh? _Maura_ was supposed to be the one Jane gazed at with that curious affection. Frustratingly, Marshal Dean was something Maura could never be: tall and dark and handsome because, of course, he was a man.

This felt just like the whole affair with Charlotte all over again, and Maura cursed herself for thinking it would be any different this time. Statistically speaking, the majority of women ended up married to men; just because Jane had appeared to express interest in Maura didn’t mean she had any intention of seriously pursuing anything. And that shouldn’t bother Maura, not really, because she herself was equally capable of marrying a man. As Jane had said, there were plenty of eligible bachelors in California. Still, the fact remained that although Maura had fallen in love with a man before, she had never been able to see herself ending up married to one. At least not as long as the laws of marriage were so limiting to the female sex.

Maura Isles did not believe in being jealous. It was seldom a productive feeling, and Maura had always been adamant that there were far better ways to spend her time than engaging in a vicious cycle that would only hurt her in the end. But try as she might, Maura tossed and turned and completely failed at putting the entire thing out of her mind until a knock on her door startled her out of her stewing.

At first, she thought she might have imagined it; there were lots of unfamiliar sounds in Echo Station, all of which were vastly different from the constant activity of Boston. The first evening, Maura had been awake half the night trying to keep herself from speculating as to what terrifying creature could have been producing the rhythmic _tap-tap-tap_ outside her window __, like the sound of claws on hard earth, only to wake up the next morning to find it had merely been a tree branch banging against the side of the house. Perhaps this was her imagination getting the better of her yet again.

But then it came again, very clearly—three loud, deliberate raps against the hard wood of her front door—and Maura couldn’t ignore it anymore. Throwing back the blankets, she climbed out of bed, shivering a little at the coolness of the air in the room. She still wasn’t quite accustomed to the way the temperature here plummeted at night, even in the middle of the summer.

Quietly, she found her matchbox where she’d left it on the bedside table, next to her lamp and a small supply of candles. Striking a match, Maura lit one of the candles and crept toward the front of the house, wondering who she would find on her doorstep.

It was rather a late hour for a friendly visit; besides, Maura wasn’t expecting guests, nor did she know many people in Echo Station who would have been inclined to pay her a visit even in the daylight hours. Jane seemed to be the only obvious candidate, but they’d conversed before Maura had left the sheriff’s station that afternoon, agreeing that they would meet the next evening. Jane wouldn’t show up in the middle of the night unless something was amiss.

Perhaps it was one of the residents of the town coming to ask for medical assistance. Or perhaps it was someone more sinister. Maura refused to jump to conclusions, but a little caution was probably prudent given that there _was_ still a killer on the loose.

There was no sound from the other side of the heavy wooden door, at least none that was audible to Maura’s ears. She stood there for a long moment, listening, before she reached out and opened the door just the slightest crack, standing at the ready in a defensive position.

But there was no movement outside the door, and as Maura opened it further, she discovered the reason: there was nobody at all standing on her doorstep.

Instead, a small wooden box sat right outside her door, conveniently labeled with her name—the words _“for Maura”_ were emblazoned across the top, the letters having been painstakingly carved into the wooden lid of the chest with a steady hand. Looking around, Maura could see no sign of whoever had deposited it there, but as it was clearly intended for her, she knelt to pick it up.

The chest was heavier than she’d expected, but it was still small enough for Maura to lift easily. Shutting and locking the door behind her, she brought the chest over to her dining room table and set it down on the flat surface. At first, she just stared at it, wondering what could be inside. Was there a possibility that it contained something dangerous? For a moment, Maura considered going next door and calling Jane to open it with her.

But something told her that the contents of the chest were meant for her and her alone. Taking a deep breath, Maura cautiously flipped back the lid to reveal… a stack of papers and a book? Well, that didn’t seem very dangerous, and it certainly would explain the weight of the little box.

The book was _Jane Eyre_ —an original edition from the first publication in 1847, bearing the pen name “Currer Bell” as editor in place of Charlotte Brontë’s true identity. It was the same edition Maura had owned when she’d read the book as a child; in fact, tracing the edge of the cover with a finger, Maura recognized it as _the_ exact copy she’d had. There was a little stain on the top right corner where she’d accidentally dripped jam while reading during one of the many meals she’d eaten by herself in the large, lonely Isles house. No matter how she’d tried to wipe that stain away, it had always lingered, an aggravating reminder of a rare moment in which Maura had failed to remain in control.

_Jane Eyre_ had been one of her favorite books. She couldn’t help but smile now, flipping through the familiar pages. Maura had always loved the main character; she was independent, strong-willed, and intelligent but also romantic and feminine. Jane Eyre was everything Maura had aspired to be as a child, a character who showed that it was possible to have agency even in a world that seemed determined to see women fail.

In fact, the character of Jane Eyre reminded her a little bit of _her_ Jane—not that Jane Rizzoli was _hers_ , per se, but… Maura gave up trying to sort out that particular train of thought with a shake of her head. Briefly, she wondered if Jane had read the book. Maura somehow couldn’t picture Jane cooped up inside and reading as a child; but then, if she’d learned anything about Jane, it was that she was full of surprises.

Maura set the book down. It _was_ odd that it was her exact childhood copy—she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that copy, but she knew she’d left it behind at her parents’ house when she’d moved out—and she suspected that the rest of the chest contained other clues as to the identity of the sender.

Rifling through the stack of papers, Maura found that it was made up primarily of photographs. Most appeared to show a young woman Maura did not recognize; judging from the clothing she was wearing (Maura was thrilled that for once, her fashion knowledge had scientific relevance!), she was approximately twenty years older than Maura. The quality of the clothing, as well as the sheer _amount_ of photos, told Maura that the woman pictured probably came from a wealthy background. She flipped over all of the photos, but only one had any writing—the words “Hope is a waking dream” were written in blocky, inelegant handwriting on the back.

Maura recognized the quote immediately. It was one often attributed to Aristotle, although whether he’d actually said it was a matter of debate. Of course, even if he _had_ said it, the exact syntax and nuance would probably have been lost in the translation from ancient Greek. Maura always preferred to learn to read source texts in their original languages, if at all possible.

But that wasn’t the point right now. The point was that though this quote was probably an integral clue in figuring out who had left a mysterious chest on her doorstep, Maura had no idea how it factored into solving the puzzle.

At the very bottom of the box lay a plain piece of paper, folded in half. Maura’s hands reached for the paper of their own volition, as if compelled to do so by some massive external force. Unfolding it, she revealed a row of characters, written in the same square handwriting that was one the back of the photograph:

_UAGEO—_

_JN PRU JDAH GS DRBO GHV XJGXP ANBIU GFXR SDZWYC, UI NL GHV VAHIZ AF ZWEVZJHG RA HUI GMTZG OW XZQ RMXF ASX UFRN. PRZS NPHRR. LRLC RG ARM._

_CCXXXVIII:XL:I-IX_

The sight of the letters sent a little thrill tingling through Maura’s entire body. She recognized it immediately—this was a cipher! Though cryptography was by no means her area of expertise, she’d dabbled in the subject just as a hobby. Despite extensive background research, however, she had never before had the opportunity to put her knowledge to use in real life.

Why not start now? It had been clear that Maura wasn’t going to sleep tonight even before the box had shown up; this letter was simply a perfect distraction from her fruitless stewing over Jane and Marshal Dean. Although she almost wished Jane were here to help. The sheriff had a sharp mind of her own, and it certainly would have been more entertaining if Maura had someone to whom she could explain this whole process… but she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Jane. Anyway, she was perfectly capable of breaking the cipher herself.

It took her some hours and several iterations of incorrect ciphers before she arrived at the answer: the encryption was a Vigenère cipher. The key lay in the bottom text— _CCXXXVIII:XL:I-IX,_ or the Roman numerals for 238:40:1-9. These numbers, in turn, corresponded to an underlined passage in _Jane Eyre_ : the first through ninth words of the fortieth line on page 238, to be exact. _“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.”_ A favorite passage of Maura’s as a child.

Decoded, the message read:

_Maura—_

_If you want to know the truth about your family, be at the river at midnight on the night of the next new moon. Come alone. Tell no one._

The next new moon fell on August 7th—which also happened to be Maura’s birthday. Though Maura didn’t want to assume anything, she had the lingering feeling that the selection of that date might not be coincidental. Whoever had sent this chest clearly knew a good deal about her. Maybe a little _too_ much.

Now that she’d solved the first mystery, Maura was beginning to wonder whether she should be worried about the implications of the chest having appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night. The encrypted message should probably have given her pause—there was something sinister about this package, no doubt. But despite her better sensibilities, Maura had to admit that her prevailing emotion had been one of excitement. Whoever had sent this package knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge of decoding it.

They also apparently knew her well enough to know her favorite childhood book, have access to _her own copy_ of said book, and arrange a meeting that happened to fall on her birthday. And they’d said not to tell anyone about this very clandestine, probably dangerous meeting.

She should tell Jane. Maura knew she should, but some part of her hesitated. Jane already had enough on her plate as it was; Maura didn’t want to be an additional burden, and besides, the note had been quite clear. There was no explicit threat that specified what would happen if she were to tell someone, but Maura knew it was implied. She couldn’t put Jane at risk.

Though Maura had always known she was adopted, she’d tried to push it to the back of her mind; there was no point in speculating about her birth family, and besides, being a member of the Isles family had afforded her countless opportunities, for which she was very grateful. Still, there had always been a part of her that wondered—where was she from? What were her birth parents like, and what sort of traits might they have passed down to her?

From a purely scientific standpoint, learning the truth about her family might help Maura understand her own self more completely. From a more personal one, it might lay to rest the questions and doubts that had plagued her ever since she’d been a little girl. Surely, combined, those two reasons were enough to justify her concealing this from Jane, at least until she could decide what to do.

Not for the first time that night, Maura found herself completely and utterly unable to fall asleep.

*

“You okay, Maur? You’re acting weird.”

Jane’s words startled her back to the present, dispelling the images floating before her eyes: that young woman in the photographs, and the smile that Maura was beginning to think seemed somehow familiar.

She gave a weak smile. “You don’t have to worry about me, Jane.”

“Alright.” Jane shrugged, and Maura wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that she’d given it up so quickly. “Well, Marshal Dean and I will be on the dance floor if you feel like joining us.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving Maura alone at the bar and nursing a glass of whiskey—a little stronger than what she usually preferred, but she needed all the liquid courage she could handle to make it through the evening. Her mind had been working overtime ever since that chest had been delivered the previous night. She knew that some of her thoughts were beginning to verge on _speculation_ , and she absolutely hated it, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else despite her best efforts to the contrary. It was taking all of her strength to refrain from spilling her secret to Jane; she was just _sure_ the sheriff would have some new insight that Maura had overlooked.

Tonight should have been an opportunity to take her mind off all that, but unfortunately, it had only morphed into an opportunity for jealousy to rise up in Maura’s chest again as she watched Jane and Marshal Dean make their way across the dance floor. They weren’t graceful together—in fact, Maura hated to admit that she took pleasure in the fact that their steps were _very_ mismatched—but they did look to be having a lot of fun. As Maura watched, Jane threw her head back in laughter, her eyes gleaming in the way they only did when she was being her most genuine self. Maura loathed how much she hated that Gabriel Dean could make Jane laugh like that.

“And how’s our favorite town doctor on this fine evening?” Angela materialized on the other side of the bar with a motherly smile that made Maura feel just a touch better. “Need a refill?”

“No, thank you, I don’t want to overdo it.” She smiled, turning her body toward Angela so that the couples on the dance floor—and most importantly, Jane and her companion—were out of sight. _Out of sight, out of mind_. “How long have you been managing the Dirty Robber, Angela?”

Angela looked pleased she’d asked. “Oh, only a few months. I worked as a barmaid before, but Vince brought me on to manage the place when he bought it.”

“Vince Korsak? The former sheriff?”

“Yeah, he’s a good one, that Vince.” Angela’s eyes crinkled up at the edges. “And a damn loyal friend, if you’ll pardon my French. It was very kind of him to trust me to look after the place.”

Maura couldn’t help but smile. “It seems like you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Angela just about puffed up with pride. “Well, thanks, Maura. That means a lot.”

“ _Ahem_.” Someone cleared their throat, and Maura turned to see that Frost had slid onto the barstool next to her. “I hate to interrupt, but I couldn’t help but notice this pretty lady sitting here all by herself.” He winked at Maura, holding out a hand. “Would you do me the honor of sharing a dance?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maura began, but Angela was already shooing her away with a good-natured twinkle in her eye.

“You should never say no to a dance, Dr. Isles! Not while you’re still young and beautiful.”

Frost grinned. “Thanks for the assist, Mrs. Rizzoli.”

“You take good care of my girls out there, Frost,” Angela warned, wagging a finger at him with a faux stern look on her face. “Now go! Have some fun. You both deserve it.”

Maura took Frost’s outstretched hand, and pretty soon they were out on the dance floor, stepping rhythmically to the sound of a guitar and a deep voice crooning the words to a folk song. Though Maura tried to focus on the dance, her eyes kept flitting over Frost’s shoulders to land on Jane. The sheriff was wrapped up in Marshal Dean’s arms now, the two of them dancing closer than was proper. Maura’s eyes bored a hole in the back of Jane’s skull as she silently willed Jane to look at her, but the brunette didn’t turn around.

“Something on your mind, doc?”

Maura blinked. “Hmm? My apologies, it’s just that I had a long night last night.”

“I hate to break it to you, Dr. Isles, but you have a terrible poker face.” Frost’s grin was wide and teasing as he twirled her around, and she couldn’t help but smile back. There was something so refreshing about the deputy’s seemingly endless optimism. She could see why Jane trusted him so much.

“Well, it’s a very good thing that I don’t do much gambling,” she said lightly, hoping her smile would sell it.

He chuckled. “Jane warned me you’d try to avoid answering direct questions, but wow. You’re almost as bad as some of the suspects we interrogate.”

“Jane talks to you about me?”

Frost shrugged. “Yeah, of course. You’re colleagues, right? And you’re new in town, which makes you the most interesting thing Echo Station’s seen in a while.”

“…right.” Was it wrong of her to be disappointed that Jane hadn’t said anything more… _personal_ about her?

They danced in silence for a few more moments before Frost pulled back to look Maura in the eye again.

“You know, if you want to ask her to dance, you should just do it,” Frost told her. “Jane appreciates it when people are direct.”

“What?” A little swell of panic welled up in Maura’s chest, and she tried in vain to prevent blushing. _Damn vasodilation._ “I mean, I—that would be—”

Frost laughed. “You’ve been staring at her all night. I know it’s not exactly… conventional, but that doesn’t matter. My mother…” he trailed off, lowering his voice. “Well, my father left a long time ago, and my ‘aunt’ Robin practically raised me alongside my mom. What I’m saying is, if you want to make it happen, you should.”

“I…” Maura wanted to deny it, but she knew she couldn’t. It was the truth—she _did_ want to be more than friends with Jane, however that would work in the long term—but it was hard to admit out loud. “Jane looks very happy with Marshal Dean.”

Frost shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve known Jane since we were kids. Angela’s always trying to get her to settle down, but it hasn’t worked so far. She always gets bored of those men before long.”

Maura opened her mouth to ask Frost whether he thought that really meant she had a chance, but then the song ended, and Jane appeared abruptly at Maura’s elbow.

“Mind if I steal you away for a bit, Maura?”

Maura looked over at Frost, who gave her a look like, _what are you waiting for?,_ and Maura smiled at him hesitantly in return before taking Jane’s hand. “Of course not.”

The band struck up a slow waltz as Jane rested one hand on Maura’s waist, the two of them stepping in time to the music. Maura’s many years of dance lessons as a child enabled her to glide across the dance floor with precision and ease, but she was surprised to find that Jane was just as graceful, easily moving through the steps of the waltz.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance.”

Jane shrugged. “Yeah, well, Ma always did want me to be a proper lady. Guess that didn’t work out exactly how she planned.”

_It worked out better,_ Maura thought, but she didn’t voice the sentiment aloud. Despite Frost’s words of encouragement, there was a part of her that still thought Jane couldn’t possibly feel the same way. She couldn’t help herself from asking, “Isn’t Marshal Dean missing your company right now?”

“Maybe.” Jane brushed off the statement with a casual wave of her hand. “But we’ve been dancing together all night. You and I have hardly talked.”

Maura felt a pang of guilt at that; she _had_ been avoiding Jane just a little, but she’d been trying to be subtle about it. Although she should have known that nothing would get past the sheriff’s keen powers of observation. It was just that she wanted Jane to be happy. If Marshal Dean could give her that happiness, who was Maura to stand in the way?

And besides, there was the matter of the mysterious package Maura had received. Even now, dancing with Jane the same way she had done on her very first night in California, she found herself unable to fully enjoy the moment. As a rule, Maura did not lie; not just because she was physically incapable of it, but because scientifically speaking, good relationships were reliant upon mutual trust, with which lying was obviously incompatible. While concealing this new development from Jane was not _technically_ lying—more of a convenient omission of pertinent information—it felt much the same. Maura had told herself that it was for Jane’s own protection, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew that wasn’t the truth. She had consciously chosen not to tell Jane because doing so might jeopardize her own selfish intent: to find out the truth about her family, no matter how dangerous that might prove to be.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“My thoughts are expensive, Sheriff.” She smiled faintly.

“Too expensive for a friend?”

_Friend._ Frost was wrong. Jane only wanted to be friends. Maura could live with that, couldn’t she?

“Too expensive for anyone, I’m afraid.”

Jane drew her in closer, her brow furrowing in concern. “Seriously, Maur. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Maura was very grateful she’d worn a high-necked dress. The hives were already beginning to itch under her collar, but at least they were not visible.

“Cut the crap, I can tell something’s up.”

“Must be your fabled sheriff’s instincts.”

“No, these are my _friend_ instincts, and they’re telling me something’s not right here.” Jane paused. “Besides, you have a tell.”

Maura frowned. “What?”

“I haven’t heard you spout a single scientific fact all night.”

“You haven’t heard me say much of _anything_ all evening.” Maura couldn’t help the bitterness in her tone. “You’ve been with Gabriel the whole time.”

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Ew, don’t call him that.”

“Whyever not? That’s his name,” she said, hating how petulant she sounded even to her own ears.

“Because it’s _weird_.” Jane made a face before schooling her expression and fixing Maura with an intense stare. “Anyway, that’s not the point. There’s something you’re not telling me, and you may as well just come clean now, because I _will_ find out some other way if you don’t.”

Maura focused on the steps of the waltz, grounding herself. _One-two-three._ “You really don’t need to worry about it, Jane.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said earlier,” Jane said, sounding frustrated now. “But just because you don’t think I should worry doesn’t mean there’s not something wrong. Is it about the murders?”

“No.” That, at least, was true. As far as Maura was aware, anyway.

“So what, then? Did you get bad news from home or something?”

She shook her head, hoping Jane didn’t insist on asking her questions all evening. Her resolve was already wearing thin even though Jane hadn’t stumbled onto anything remotely close to the truth. Maura didn’t know how she’d manage to look the sheriff right in the face and lie if she did somehow manage to guess.

Although what did she really expect Jane to ask? _‘Oh, I know. Maura, are you upset ‘cause someone left a disconcertingly personal chest and encoded message on your front doorstep in the middle of the night last night and you’ve decided you don’t trust me enough to tell me about it?’_

That seemed highly unlikely. There was no way Jane could know.

“Is it about one of your patients? Is the Smiths’ baby gonna make it?”

Maura sighed. “No, it’s not about that, and yes, he will most likely make a full recovery. Now, are we dancing, or are you going to interrogate me all night?”

“Fine.” Jane gave an exasperated sigh, and they lapsed into an awkward silence.

Although Maura could tell she and Jane were executing the movements of the waltz perfectly, something still felt amiss. Maybe it was the way that, despite their bodies’ closeness, neither one of them seemed able to look the other in the eye. Whatever it was, Maura found herself jealous of that easy—if ungraceful—energy Jane had had with Marshal Dean earlier in the evening. It wasn’t like her to admire imperfection, but Maura had the sinking feeling in her stomach that perhaps compatibility was not measured by how flawlessly one performed a waltz, but by something far less objective than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want y'all to know that I wrote like one thousand words detailing how to break the cipher, and then I had self-restraint and deleted the whole explanation because let's be real, nobody but me and Maura would care.


	8. webster's dictionary, by the way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by that one scene in But I’m A Cheerleader where Megan is thinking of boobs while making out with her boyfriend. (Honestly, what a closeted gay girl mood.) If you have seen that movie, you will definitely know what I am talking about. If you haven’t… well, go watch it! It’s one of my favorite lesbian movies of all time, and that’s only partially because I’m in love with Natasha Lyonne.  
> Enjoy, y'all!

In theory, it should have been a perfect date. The setting was romantic: soft rays of sunset light, a slight breeze rippling through the leaves of the aspens, the gentle babble of the river in the background. The meal was wonderful, too—much as Jane complained about her Ma, she couldn’t ever fault her cooking—as was the man sitting in front of her. On paper, Gabriel Dean was exactly the sort of man she should be excited to marry. He was handsome, charismatic, funny. He had a solid career. They even got along well; they had similar personalities and some common interests. But looking at him, sitting across from her on a picnic blanket, Jane’s overwhelming feeling was one of unease.

“So,” Dean said, looking just as uncomfortable as Jane felt, “nice weather we’ve been having, right?”

“It’s the same as any other year,” Jane replied flatly, wishing she understood why this was so damn awkward. The other night at the Dirty Robber, she’d thought for a moment that maybe there had been some sort of spark between herself and Dean—which had been a relief. It wasn’t that Jane _wanted_ to get married, although admittedly it would have been easier if she had. It was just that if Jane was capable of having feelings for Dean, that would mean she really was capable of having feelings for men. Which in turn meant that she wouldn’t have to think about her feelings for Maura.

What those feelings were, exactly, Jane was not quite sure. There was absolutely no good reason for her to think about what it all might mean, so she had resolutely decided to push it from her mind. It would be too complicated—they were friends and coworkers, two people whose lives would probably always be intertwined, at least as long as Maura lived in Echo Station. Jane wasn’t about to risk messing all that up for the chance for… what? It wasn’t like she and Maura could have any real sort of relationship. Even if they could, it would have to be a secret one. Ma would always be disappointed that Jane remained a spinster, because that was the lie Jane would have to let her believe.

It would have been so much easier if Jane could’ve just fallen for Dean and been done with it.

“What do you think of the developments in the case?” Dean tried again, and Jane felt a wave of relief crash over her.

Normally, she hated talking about work over a romantic dinner like this one—most men had no respect for her as a sheriff at all—but that, at least, was different about Dean. Even though Jane knew that his jurisdiction as a federal marshal technically gave him greater authority, he truly treated her as an equal. Which was another reason Jane was so disappointed that she felt about as much sexual attraction to him as she would have to a potato. That was to say, none at all.

“I have a few suspects,” she confided, feeling much more in her comfort zone. “Two of the biggest outlaw gangs have been more active recently. Hoyt and Doyle. I think it may have something to do with them.”

Dean nodded. “As you know, Doyle is wanted back in Boston for a string of murders. The U.S. government is very interested in seeing him brought to justice.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Jane sighed. “I thought it was Hoyt’s gang behind these murders, but he’s in lock-up, and the ice pick is Doyle’s M.O. We need to find him.”

When Dean didn’t immediately respond, Jane looked up to find him gazing at her with something undefinable in his eyes. He certainly made a striking figure in the golden light of the setting sun—strong jawline, brooding eyebrows, dusty hair flopping down over his forehead—but it didn’t have the effect on Jane that she wished it would.

“You’re very good at your job, Jane,” he said, the use of her first name causing something uncomfortable to twinge through her.

“Thank you,” she heard herself say, almost numbly.

And then Dean’s hand was on her jawline, drawing her in closer until their lips met. It wasn’t unpleasant—Dean kept it very chaste, which Jane appreciated—but Jane found herself feeling absolutely bored with the sensation. And that was the problem. Instead of feeling happy or excited or even disgusted, she felt _nothing._

As Dean’s mouth slid over her own, Jane found her mind wandering to how it would feel to kiss a very _different_ pair of lips. It would be much softer, gentler, Jane thought. Jane’s hand would come up to the back of Maura’s neck, tangling in her hair there to pull the doctor in closer as she opened her mouth to Maura’s. She tried to imagine how it would taste, kissing Maura. Sweet, probably, maybe—

O-kaaaay. This needed to stop _now._ She should be focusing on the man in front of her— _he_ should be the one giving her butterflies in her stomach and making her feel awkward and bashful and beautiful all at the same time. Maura was her _friend._ Fantasizing about kissing her was definitely off-limits.

Pulling back from Dean, she couldn’t help the disappointment that welled up inside of her. He was still looking at her with that sappy gaze, and she felt a knot twisting in her chest as she looked back, giving him a strained smile.

“I need to go.”

“What?” he asked, obviously confused, but she just shook her head.

“It’s not you, you’re great,” she said hurriedly, backing away, “I’m just not… I’m not ready for _this._ Okay?”

“Wait! Jane, wait. Let’s just talk about this,” he pleaded, but she was already gone.

Jane’s feet walked her home on autopilot, but once she reached her front door, she found she didn’t want to be alone. For a moment, she considered going to the Dirty Robber to talk to her mother, but she quickly dismissed that idea. Ma would want to know every damn detail of her dinner with Marshal Dean, and that hadn’t exactly gone to plan. She was sure to be disappointed in Jane’s inability to keep any man’s interest for more than a date or two. No, Jane wanted to be with someone she could be herself around, without having to worry about any judgement.

Which was how she wound up standing on Maura’s doorstep, deliberating whether or not to knock.

Things had been… _weird_ between her and Maura lately. Jane wasn’t sure what had caused the weirdness, but ever since their trip to Madame Lola’s the previous week, something just hadn’t been right. To be fair, they hadn’t seen much of each other since then. Jane had been busy working with Dean on the case, and Maura had assured her that she had plenty of (living) patients to attend to around town. Since there had been no more bodies, there hadn’t been any autopsies for Maura to perform. That was undoubtedly a good thing, but it also meant that Jane had missed seeing that perfectly coiffed hair and ridiculously fashionable clothing around the sheriff’s station. She had even found herself missing Maura’s constant encyclopedia mouth, which was really saying something.

And then there had been that night at the Dirty Robber. Jane _knew_ there was something Maura hadn’t told her, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what it was. It was _so_ frustrating. Jane prided herself on her exceptional detective skills, and Maura couldn’t even tell a lie, for god’s sake. And yet here they were more than a week later, and Jane still couldn’t make even a reasonable guess as to what Maura was hiding. How on earth was it that she hadn’t managed to pry the secret out of her yet?

Well, maybe tonight would be an opportunity to fix the weirdness _and_ find out a little more about Maura’s secret. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do other than go home, drink a glass of whiskey, and wallow in the misery of knowing she was probably going to die alone. With a resigned sigh, Jane lifted her fist and rapped three times on the front door.

“Jane?” Maura opened the door, looking surprised to see her. “I thought you were having dinner with Marshal Dean tonight.”

Jane frowned. “How did you know?”

“Oh, your mother—”

“Of course she told you,” Jane muttered. “Ma never could keep her mouth shut.”

“I’m sure she’s just trying to do what’s best for you,” Maura said, diplomatic as ever. That was one thing Jane couldn’t understand about Maura—the woman had seemingly endless patience. Nothing ever really seemed to get under her skin, not even Jane’s sarcastic quips. (Contrary to popular belief, Jane _did_ know her constant sarcasm could be annoying. She just didn’t care.)

“What Ma thinks is best and what’s really best are two different things,” she said. “Can I come in?”

“Oh! How rude of me. Of course you may.” Maura stepped to the side, and Jane moved past her into the house. “I’ve already eaten dinner, but I can make you something if you’d like.”

“That’s okay,” Jane said, even though she hadn’t really eaten much at her ‘dinner’ with Marshal Dean. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“I have wine.”

“Really?” All the local saloons had wine, but it was rare for anyone to keep it at home. Unless they made it themselves, of course.

Maura nodded. “I brought a few bottles with me.”

“Alright,” Jane agreed. “I’ll drink anything you’re having.”

Wine was not Jane’s drink of choice, but anything was better than nothing. She wasn’t about to go to the Dirty Robber to order something more to her tastes. No amount of beer would be worth her Ma’s incessant questioning. And if Ma found out she’d been to any other saloon in town to get her fix, well, Jane would be in for a world of trouble. Ever since Korsak had bought the establishment, the Rizzolis drank at the Dirty Robber or not at all; it was family loyalty, Angela said.

Jane took a seat in one of Maura’s wooden chairs, watching as the doctor pulled a bottle of wine out of a cabinet, pouring them both glasses. She pulled a chair out next to Jane, handing the sheriff a glass, which she took with a grateful nod.

“How the hell did you fit all this stuff in your trunk?” Jane wondered aloud, swishing the wine around in her glass. It was a dark shade of crimson—the color of blood, Jane thought, although that was probably a morbid thought to be having what with everything going on these days.

“I am a very efficient packer.”

Jane snorted. “Yeah, or a witch of some kind. No way any normal human could fit all your stuff in a single trunk.”

“What? No, I simply make use of the optimal packing techniques. For example—”

“Okay, okay, I don’t need the full lecture.” Jane shifted uncomfortably, clearing her throat and running a hand through her hair. “I believe you.”

They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments, both of them just looking at one another without speaking. It was a weird feeling—Jane didn’t think she’d ever felt so lost for words around Maura before. Talking to her had always been effortless, even on that very first night back in Aurora. Now, though, Jane didn’t have a clue how to fix whatever had been broken between them.

 _Jesus Christ._ This was almost as bad as the dinner with Dean.

It was Maura who finally broke the silence. “So, Jane… why are you here instead of with Marshal Dean?”

Jane almost spat out the large gulp of wine she’d taken. Trust Maura to be direct. Thank _god_ Jane wasn’t cursed with the doctor’s inability to lie—she didn’t think she could survive this conversation otherwise.

“No reason! I just, uh. I finished dinner with Dean.”

What on earth _was_ she doing at Maura’s? This had been a bad idea. If she told Maura about Dean, then she’d have to tell her _why_ she’d walked out on the dinner, which was that she had been thinking about Maura when she’d been kissing Dean. And that was something Jane should definitely _not_ tell Maura.

“Isn’t it rather early for you to be done with dinner?”

“I eat fast!” Jane said defensively.

“While that is undoubtedly true,” Maura said, and Jane couldn’t help but feel that she was poking fun at Jane’s tendency to wolf down food, “I very much doubt that’s why you’re here. What happened?”

It was strange, wasn’t it, how well Maura was able to read her. Jane was proud of the fact that she was so tough—no matter what happened, she’d never let anyone see her struggle. Honestly, it was a necessary skill for her to have as a female sheriff. There was a burden on her to be everything a man could be and more, and that meant being strong at any cost. Even Ma couldn’t always tell when Jane was hurting. And yet here was Maura, a woman she’d known less than a month, looking her in the eyes and asking her what was wrong as though reading Jane’s feelings were the easiest thing in the world.

The trouble, though, was that Jane couldn’t exactly say what was bothering her without the risk of upsetting Maura. She didn’t particularly feel like scaring off a second person in one night, either, which meant that her feelings for Maura—whatever those were—had to stay under wraps for the time being.

Jane suddenly had a brilliant idea. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Maura had a quizzical look on her face.

“C’mon, Maur, you know what.”

“No, in fact, I do not.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Whatever it was you wouldn’t tell me at the Dirty Robber last week.”

“Oh,” Maura said, tone clipped. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Then I guess I can’t tell you why I cut my dinner with Marshal Dean short.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

Jane stared at Maura for a moment, willing her to back down, but the doctor didn’t even blink. In fact, she shifted in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest in what could only be called a power stance. It was almost humorous to Jane—she was far stronger physically, so Maura wasn’t exactly intimidating—but it got the point across. Whatever secret Maura had was one she intended to keep. Jane blew a frustrated puff of air out of her nose. Yet another stalemate. It seemed like her entire life was just one giant dead end lately.

“I really would tell you if I could, Jane.” Maura spoke quietly. “It’s for the best that you don’t know about this.”

Jane laughed bitterly. “Sure.”

Maura was silent for a moment, studying her. Jane looked right back at her, intending for her stare to show that she wasn’t backing down, but her eyes kept drifting to Maura’s mouth. _Goddamnit._ A blush rushed to Jane’s cheeks before she could prevent the less-than-platonic thoughts she’d been having about those lips earlier from springing back to her mind.

Jane cleared her throat. “Right, well. I should probably go.”

“Probably.” Maura made no move to get up, and neither did Jane. “You haven’t finished your wine.”

Truth be told, Jane had forgotten entirely about the glass she still held tightly in her left hand, a little bit of red liquid pooling at the bottom. Maura was probably only making an observation; that was just what she did, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like she was making an excuse for Jane to stay longer. Was she? No, definitely not. Why would she even want Jane to stay? Everything still felt so _off_ between the two of them.

“Uh,” Jane said, feeling stupid as she realized she hadn’t responded for an embarrassingly long amount of time, “yeah, you’re right. I can, uh, stay and finish this. I guess. If that’s alright.”

“Would you like to spend the night?” The way Maura said it was very matter of fact, but it still sucked all the air out of Jane’s lungs.

“That’s really not—I mean, my house is next door… just from a logical standpoint…”

“A logical standpoint?” Maura smiled softly. “That’s my line, Jane.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d appreciate the attempt at logical reasoning,” Jane mumbled, feeling flustered and ineloquent as heat rushed to her cheeks. 

“I do, but that’s not why I asked you to stay. You’re right, from a logical standpoint, we each have our own homes.” Maura set her drained wine glass down on the table. “I just thought perhaps you’d like company tonight.”

“Company?” What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

“Yes, company.” When Jane didn’t respond, Maura’s voice took on that tone that Jane recognized as her encyclopedia voice as she recited, “ _An assemblage of persons for entertainment or festivity._ That’s Webster’s Dictionary, by the way.”

“Thanks, Maura, I do know the meaning of the word _company_.” Although really she hadn’t. The dictionary definition cleared things up—Maura had not meant anything improper, and Jane really, really needed to get her mind out of the gutter.

“So would you like to stay, then?”

Her brain said no, this was a terrible idea, but that wasn’t what came out of her mouth.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Sounds good.” _Great, Rizzoli, say the same thing three times. That’ll make you sound real smart._

“Great!” Maura looked like a kid in a candy store, her eyes lighting up almost comically.

“Jeez, calm down,” Jane said, trying to be nonchalant even with her heartbeat rushing in her ears. “Anyone would think you’d never had a friend spend the night at your place before.”

Maura blushed, looking a bit crestfallen. “I apologize if my reaction seemed excessive.”

“What? No, you don’t have to be sorry, I’m just teasing.” Jane cringed. She really couldn’t stop putting her foot in it tonight, could she? Maura just took everything so damn literally, and Jane was such a naturally sarcastic person. Usually that wasn’t a problem, but tonight… well, lately everything had been going wrong.

“Oh.”

Jane took a deep breath in. If she was gonna be staying over tonight, she may as well use the time to have an honest conversation with Maura. Not _completely_ honest, for obvious reasons, but maybe they could clear the air a little. For some reason, this friendship she had with Maura was worth the pain of initiating an actual serious conversation. Although if Jane was honest, it already felt about as unpleasant as that time when she was eleven and she’d fallen off her horse and wound up with a giant bump on her head. (Maura would probably have a fancy scientific term for that injury, but in the Rizzoli house, it was what they called a “goose egg.”) Anyway, the point was, honesty was already an unpleasant experience. And she hadn’t even really opened her mouth yet.

“Look, Maur. I know things have been weird with us lately, and I just wanna say I’m sorry for whatever it is.” She paused. “But, uh, if you could tell me what’s bothering you, that would be really helpful.”

Maura blinked, almost as if surprised by Jane’s honesty. (Frankly, Jane was surprised at herself.) “Well, that’s very kind of you to say, but it’s not about you.”

“Liar.”

Maura flushed, hands creeping up to her neckline, where the hives were already beginning to appear. They looked uncomfortable, and Jane felt a pang of guilt knowing she’d caused them. It wasn’t like she’d forced Maura to lie, but she may as well have.

“Fine.” Maura sighed. “But before I tell you, you should know that it’s entirely irrational and rather embarrassing.”

Jane didn’t really know how to respond. “…okay?”

“Okay,” Maura said, taking a deep breath. “I may have been a bit jealous of you and Marshal Dean.”

“Me and _Dean_ , really?” Jane couldn’t help but laugh, half-giddy with something that felt like relief. Did Maura mean jealousy in a friend sense, or…? The next words slipped out before she could think better. “God, our date tonight was a disaster!”

“It’s just that you’ve been spending so much time with him recently, and I thought you might have…”

“Might have what?”

“Might have found someone you liked better than me,” Maura said candidly, and Jane could see the color rise to her cheeks as she met Jane’s eyes.

Jane scoffed, letting herself say the words before she could second guess them. “You and him are nothing alike. He couldn’t ever replace you.”

“Well, that _is_ reassuring to hear.”

Maura’s tentative smile just about made Jane’s heart melt. Reaching over, Jane gave the doctor’s hand a slight squeeze.

“Come on, it’s late. We should probably get some rest before tomorrow.”

Now Jane just had to find a way to make it through a night of sharing the bed with one Maura Isles without combusting, and all this would be a-okay.

*

It was not a-okay.

Everything had gone just fine until it was actually time to get into bed, and Jane had laid there, stiff as a board and expecting to wait until Maura had fallen asleep to doze off herself, and then Maura just… hadn’t. In fact, she’d rolled over on her side to face Jane, and now the two of them found their faces just inches apart. Maura was so close that Jane could feel the gentle puffs of her breathing. The only small mercy was that the room was relatively dark—only a small slant of moonlight filtered in through a gap in the curtains—so the awkwardness of Jane staring into Maura’s eyes at such close proximity was somewhat lessened.

Jane knew they’d shared a bed before, back in Aurora, but somehow this time was _very_ different. For one thing, Jane hadn’t even _thought_ of kissing Maura back then, let alone permitted herself to have embarrassingly detailed fantasies about what such an action might feel like. Now, though, she couldn’t help but replay those scenes in her mind; the more she tried to stop thinking about kissing Maura, the more she inevitably imagined it. They were lying so close together. It would be so easy to just lean in and—

“What are you thinking about?”

Jane just about jumped out of her skin at the quiet sound of Maura’s voice in the darkness.

Once again, she thanked god for her ability to lie. “Nothing important.” She tried to steady her breathing. “What’re you thinking about?”

“You,” came the response.

Jane’s mouth felt suddenly dry. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Even in the dim light, Jane could see the curve of a smile across Maura’s lips.

“What about me?”

“Just that I’m happy you’re here.”

At least she didn’t have to lie about this one. “Me, too,” Jane admitted. There was something intensely comforting about lying there with Maura. It felt safe, not because Maura was the sort of person who could protect her—besides, Jane didn’t see herself as someone who needed protecting—but because it somehow made Jane feel both vulnerable and secure at the same time.

Maura reached out to brush a strand of hair back behind Jane’s ear, and for a moment, Jane’s breath caught in her throat as the doctor leaned in closer. She felt herself leaning in, too, until their foreheads were resting against each other. They were too close to really look into each other’s eyes now, so Jane closed hers, half expecting to feel the press of Maura’s lips against her own. But the doctor didn’t move, just breathed out with a long sigh. Her hand sought out Jane’s underneath the blankets, intertwining their fingers together.

“Thank you, Jane.”

Jane smiled, eyes popping open as she pulled back so she could make eye contact again. “What are you thanking me for?”

“For welcoming me into your town and your family without hesitation. For staying tonight.” Maura shrugged. “For being you.”

“I… you’re welcome, I guess?”

Maura just gave a sleepy hum, her eyes fluttering closed as she pulled Jane in closer until they were practically pressed against each other. Jane couldn’t lie, it was a little distracting feeling Maura’s body against hers like that, but mostly it just felt peaceful. She wasn’t really sure what Maura wanted—was this just a friend thing to her? Jane didn’t think so, but then again, some girls were just really affectionate with their friends—but it was clear that she didn’t mind Jane holding her, at least for tonight. If this was the only opportunity Jane got to be close to Maura in this way, she wouldn’t pass it up.

It wasn’t until just before Jane drifted off to sleep that she realized they were still holding hands, fingers intertwined beneath the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this chapter really should've been subtitled "lesbian longing" because that's the mood for our two ladies today. Also, if you haven't already seen it, I posted the deleted scene from last chapter in which Maura decodes the cipher because apparently I was wrong about people not wanting to read it! :) Thanks for reading!


	9. en garde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Sorry it's been so long... my laptop broke, and then this chapter just ended up being a pain to write. I hope y'all enjoy it anyway. :) As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting, it's much appreciated.

Maura woke the next morning to the soft glow of sunlight and the comforting feeling of Jane’s arms around her. It made her smile to know that this time, unlike the very first morning in Aurora, Jane’s position was intentional. For a moment she let herself enjoy it—this was exactly what she had wanted from Jane when she’d come over the previous evening, although Maura had been reluctant to say so in as many words—but then she frowned, listening. Sure enough, there was a knocking on Maura’s front door; it was likely the sound had been what had woken her up in the first place, though she was only noticing it now.

She looked over at Jane, who was resting peacefully next to her. It would be a shame to wake her, she decided. Jane hardly ever took a pause except to sleep, and sometimes she even had to be coerced into that. Some people would say she worked too hard—Maura had heard Angela complain about Jane’s job numerous times, most often when Jane’s tendency to stay late at work inevitably made her tardy for one family function or another. _Stop nagging me, Ma_ , Jane would always say, with an accompanying glare that usually convinced her mother to drop it.

Maura had to admit she felt the same frustration as Angela sometimes. But as hard as it was to watch Jane work herself half to death, it was something she could never fault Jane for—because Maura understood it on an almost inherent level. Granted, there was a difference between murder and medical mysteries, and the two of them certainly took drastically disparate approaches to their work. But that underlying drive to _discover_ , even at immense personal cost, was something that united them both.

Looking down at Jane’s sleeping form, Maura hesitated only for a moment before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Jane’s forehead. It wasn’t a particularly daring move, she told herself, but it made her flush despite her attempt to rationalize. Relieved that Jane appeared to be fast asleep, at least for the moment, she slipped out of bed and hurried to answer the door. Bright morning sunlight spilled in as soon as she opened it, along with a slight piney scent and the sound of one Deputy Sheriff wishing her a good morning.

“Deputy Frost,” she greeted him with a smile. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“Is Jane here?”

Maura blushed at the words. On a surface level, detached from any connotation, there was nothing odd about the question. It was simply a fact that Jane and Maura had grown close in the weeks since she’d arrived, and as they did live so near to one another, it made perfect sense that Jane might be at Maura’s home instead of her own. What worried Maura, however, was the implication behind the words; although nothing indecent had transpired between her and Jane, she still felt an odd sense of guilt at Frost’s question. 

“Why do you ask?”

Frost’s face broke into a wide grin. “A classic deflection, once again. You’re good, Dr. Isles. With a little training, we could make you into a proper outlaw. But you didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes, Jane’s inside.” Maura sighed, defeated. 

“I knew it!” Frost practically crowed. “Good on you, doctor.”

“You can call me Maura.” Another deflection, but then, Frost was right. Maura was rather skilled at simple deceptions. It was a necessary measure with her truth-telling affliction.

“Well, _Maura,_ you can thank me later for telling you to make a move.” He paused. “But you still can’t call me Barrold. That name is reserved for my mother, and only when she’s angry.”

Maura couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that. “Noted. Although I feel I should clarify, Jane and I only slept together. Nothing more.”

Frost was giving her a strange look, eyebrow raised and something teasing in the way his eyes sparkled that made Maura feel she’d lost the plot a little bit somewhere along the way.

“What?”

“Slept together, huh?”

Maura felt the heat rush to her cheeks as her traitorous blood vessels dilated. As well as she understood the mechanisms of her body, they remained frustratingly out of her control. “Not—I mean, she slept over! Nothing like that… it wasn’t anything inappropriate.”

Frost raised an eyebrow. “If you’re sure, Dr. I—Maura.”

“I’m quite sure.” Maura shook her head; though scientifically the motion had no correlation with clarity of thought, it did make her feel slightly better. “I’ll wake her. You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable in the front room.”

Frost just nodded, that same aggravating twinkle in his eye as she directed him to the dining table. Maura wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Frost knew there was something going on with her and Jane. _Was_ there anything going on between them, really? She wasn’t sure about that, either. There were certainly obvious indications of Jane’s attraction to her—the jealousy, the protectiveness, the way Jane touched her like they’d known each other for years instead of mere weeks—but then, those could be anomalies instead of statistically significant evidence. The human mind tended to distort reality and pick out examples that supported its own preconceived notions; mightn’t this just be Maura’s own mind telling her what she wanted to hear?

Having Frost’s input on the matter might prove useful, but then again, it was a risk with which Maura felt vaguely uncomfortable. Sure, this was the wild, wild West. The rules here weren’t exactly the same as they were in New England, and Maura was sure whatever relationship she and Jane had could be classed as a “close friendship” to most. But the fact that they were both women was a complicating factor; Maura was not naive enough to fail to recognize that. Just because Frost was open-minded did not mean the same would be true of everyone else in Echo Station. 

Brushing off her concerns for the moment, Maura returned to the bedroom. Jane had hardly moved since she’d left—she was sprawled out on her back, long limbs taking up the entire bed. (Maura made a mental note to talk to her about that later. Much as she’d enjoyed Jane’s company, the woman was an incorrigible blanket stealer.) It really _was_ a shame to have to wake her when she looked so peaceful, Maura thought again, frowning as she placed a gentle hand on Jane’s shoulder.

Instantly, Jane’s expression shifted, all sense of tranquility gone as she shot bolt upright. Her left hand produced her pistol seemingly out of thin air as her right hand encircled Maura’s wrist tight enough to make the doctor gasp. The wild look in her eyes reminded Maura of a frightened predator—backed into a corner and fighting for its life.

“Jane.” Maura kept her voice steady, the same way she talked when she was attempting to calm an apprehensive child she was treating. “Jane, it’s just me.”

The wild look was gone from Jane’s eyes just as quickly as it had come, and she relaxed, lowering the pistol.

“Jeez, Maur, you can’t scare a girl like that. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” Jane brushed it off with a laugh, but Maura could still read the nervousness in Jane’s movements as she ran a hand through her tangled waves. “Killing the sheriff would kinda ruin your reputation as a doctor, don’tcha think?”

“Certainly,” Maura agreed, indulging Jane in her rambling. Perhaps if Maura didn’t stop her from talking, she’d give some indication as to what was bothering her.

“Why’d you wake me up, anyway?” Jane tried to give a nonchalant yawn and stretch, but Maura didn’t need a medical degree to determine that the gesture was completely fake.

She ignored the question for the moment. “Are you going to tell me why you sleep with a pistol under your pillow?”

Jane shrugged. “Safety?” she said lamely, the statement coming out more like a question. “Doesn’t hurt to protect yourself.”

“Of course not, but there are other ways of protection that do not involve sleeping with a dangerous firearm,” said Maura, already thinking of the million ways in which Jane could injure herself with the pistol. “I realize that it’s not always safe here, but I don’t make a habit of stashing pistols underneath my pillow.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should think about starting,” Jane said darkly, something of the cornered animal coming back to her eyes. 

Maura let those words linger between them in the air for a moment, considering Jane’s demeanor. The only time she’d seen Jane like this had been back in Aurora, when she’d asked about the twin scars on the backs of Jane’s hands. It had been the same sort of defensive reaction—a mixture of fear and Jane’s incessant need to prove herself worthy of all the roles the world had thrust upon her. Maura knew Jane hated vulnerability. Whatever had happened had left scars beyond the physical.

“Did you have a nightmare?” she asked, catching Jane’s eyes.

Jane looked back with a sort of deep sadness, almost as if she wished she could look away but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Maura saw her start to open her mouth before hesitating and shaking her head.

“I promise I’ll tell you later, alright?” Jane sighed, looking as though she felt guilty. “Just… not right now. Because it’ll ruin my day, and it’s too early for this day to already be shitty. Okay?”

Maura nodded.

“Now would you mind actually telling me why I’m awake when I could be sleeping like a baby right now?”

“Oh.” She had practically forgotten. “Frost is in the front room. He wanted to see you.”

“Frost came looking for me _here_?” To her credit, Jane looked more surprised than fearful, which made Maura feel slightly better. If Jane wasn’t worried about what people might think about her sleeping over, then Maura resolved not to let it bother her, either. 

“He didn’t say why he was here.”

“Oh, that _can’t_ be good,” Jane was muttering, already pulling on her clothes and hunting around for her sheriff’s badge. “ _Shit_. Where—”

“Here,” Maura supplied, handing her the badge from where it had been absentmindedly discarded on the floor the previous night. 

“You’re a lifesaver, Maur,” Jane said gratefully, but Maura didn’t have time to enjoy the crooked smile the sheriff gave her, because Jane was already rushing past her and out the door. 

She caught up to Jane just in time to hear her ask, “Where’s the body?”

“There isn’t one, actually,” Frost said. “But we think there’s a ransom note. Korsak is gonna meet us at the crime scene.”

“Korsak?” Maura frowned. “Isn’t he retired?”

Frost nodded. “Yes, but he’s the only one who can ID Paddy Doyle’s handwriting. If he’s the one who wrote the note, Korsak will know.”

*

It wasn’t as gruesome as the previous crime scenes Maura had been to; there was no body, for starters. Which really made her presence there entirely superfluous. She’d suggested as much to Jane when they’d been walking out the door, but there had been something pleading in the sheriff’s expression, and god only knew that Maura was completely incapable of resisting those big brown eyes. So she’d ended up giving Jane’s hand a reassuring squeeze and following her and Frost down the road.

They were greeted by the sight of a distraught woman being comforted by a man who Maura assumed was Korsak. He was patting her on the shoulder, looking concerned as she wrung her hands and blew her nose into an already-soaked handkerchief.

“I-I just don’t understand,” she repeated over and over in between sniffles. “How could this have happened to our _baby?_ I just don’t understand…”

“I know, Mrs. Williams,” Korsak said, nodding his head, and Maura couldn’t help but think he looked much more natural comforting a crying victim than Jane did. (Not that Jane wasn’t good at comforting people. It was just that… well, there were other areas in which she excelled more, if Maura was being entirely honest.)

Jane, meanwhile, wasn’t wasting time. She beckoned Maura over to the front door of the house, where a piece of paper had been pinned between the wooden door and a metal ice pick. A cursory examination told Maura that the handle of the ice pick was made of the same light-colored wood as the weapon they’d removed from Ruby’s body. Of course, she’d have to examine it further to be entirely sure.

“What do you think, Maur?” Jane murmured, leaning in close to the door.

Maura couldn’t help her wry smile. “I specialize in human bodies, Jane, not wooden doors.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that.” Jane rolled her eyes. “You also happen to be a genius. I’m sure your legendary skills of deduction can tell you _something_ about what’s going on here.”

“Are you trying to stroke my ego so that I’ll make a guess?”

“Noooo,” Jane said, but there was a smile toying at the edges of her lips.

Whether it was flattery or not (Maura genuinely couldn’t tell), she couldn’t help but take the bait. She stepped in closer, ignoring the iron tang of fresh blood that intensified as her face got closer to the wood. The ice pick had been used to pin a folded piece of paper to the door; the white of the paper was spattered with blood, as was the surrounding wood. Interestingly, however, despite the blood-spattered door, the ice pick itself was completely clean.

“This ice pick wasn’t used as a murder weapon. At least not recently,” Maura clarified. “The blood spatter has likely been staged for dramatic effect.”

“Lovely,” Jane muttered. “It would be _just_ like Hoyt to taunt me like this.”

Maura was almost sure Jane would hate her for asking, but the curiosity was burning her up inside. Though Jane hadn’t said a word about Hoyt, Maura had heard murmurs around town—but never at full volume, as if invoking the name could summon some awful specter. Even Angela, usually so forthcoming about town gossip, had blanched when Maura had brought it up. _That’s something you really should ask Jane_ , she’d said, unwilling to meet Maura’s eyes as she absentmindedly washed the same dish twice, her tone of voice suggesting that getting Jane to talk about it was akin to pulling teeth.

Maura had wondered if Hoyt had something to do with Jane’s scars and Korsak’s accident—two other things the sheriff adamantly refused to talk about—but she had no concrete proof. And so she had just decided to leave the issue well enough alone until now.

“Will you tell me about Hoyt?” she asked gently.

Jane’s face darkened. “Shitty day, remember?”

“It might help me understand the case better.” Appealing to logic was the only strategy Maura could think of; it was certainly one that would work if applied on Maura herself.

Jane held her gaze for a long moment, eyes still dark and wild, before she sighed. “Fine.” Lowering her voice, she stepped in closer to Maura. “Charles Hoyt. ‘Outlaw’ is too good of a title for him. He’s the most disgusting human being I’ve ever met. He kidnapped and killed several young women before Korsak and I managed to lock him up back in May.”

“If he’s locked up, how can he be responsible for this?”

Jane scowled. “Outlaws always have allies. Hoyt’s no different. His gang rivaled Doyle’s in size, at least back in the day…”

Maura sensed there was more to the story than that, but she wasn’t sure she should press Jane any further. There was a point at which protecting someone’s emotions became more important than the pursuit of knowledge; although Maura’s threshold for invasive questions in the name of insight was high, she wasn’t so sure about Jane. Still… this line of questioning wasn’t so much for science as it was to further Maura’s understanding of her friend. She had to know.

“Did he give you those scars?”

Jane’s hands reflexively curled into fists at her sides. Her shoulders formed a tense line, and Maura could see her clench her jaw. Hoping to alleviate some of that tension, Maura reached out and took one of Jane’s hands, surprised when she felt Jane’s fingers relax and uncurl to intertwine with her own.

“Yes,” Jane said, blowing out a long breath. “He… well, I took a risk I shouldn’t have. It’s my own fault.”

Maura traced the little scar on Jane’s hand with her fingers, feeling the slightly raised bump. Though she could feel a slight shudder run through Jane’s body, the sheriff made no move to pull away. If anything, she grasped Maura’s hand tighter.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Jane.”

“You weren’t there, alright?” The words came out harshly, but Maura didn’t let them sting her. “I made a mistake. It cost Korsak his career, and it almost cost me my life. That’s not me feeling sorry for myself. It’s just a fact.”

Maura sensed that verbal acknowledgement was unlikely to help Jane feel any better; instead, she placed her free hand on Jane’s shoulder, intending to pull the sheriff into an embrace. But this time, Jane really did flinch away, disentangling her fingers from Maura’s to put a respectable distance between them.

“Don’t,” she said tersely. “Not here.”

“Of course.” Maura nodded, understanding instantly. Visible vulnerability was not something Jane would want to showcase in front of her other colleagues.

Turning back to the door again, Jane deftly removed the ice pick, freeing the little piece of paper underneath. Unfolding the note, she read aloud, voice monotone and emotionless.

“ _You should know by now that you can’t save them all_.”

Maura waited a moment, expecting her to continue, but the sheriff remained silent. “So it’s not a ransom note, then.”

“No.” Jane’s face was still scarily expressionless, almost numb. “It’s a taunt.”

She stood like that a moment longer before refolding the paper and shoving it into her pocket. Shaking her head like a wild horse, Jane turned on her heel so suddenly that Maura had to hustle to keep up with her long strides as she made her way over to Korsak.

“Sorry, Mrs. Williams, but would you mind if I borrowed Korsak here?” she asked with a fake (but still charming, Maura thought) smile. “I promise it’ll only be a minute.”

Mrs. Williams sniffled, nodding. “Anything you need to do is fine with me, Sheriff.”

“Thanks.” Jane grabbed Korsak and Maura both by their elbows, the smile dropping from her face as she pulled them into a huddle out of earshot from the worried mother. “So,” she said, producing the note from her pocket and handing it to Korsak, “is it Doyle? Because the threat sounds like Hoyt, but it’s not his handwriting.”

Korsak unfolded the little scrap of paper, scanning it for a moment before nodding. “It’s him.”

“Great. There’s one mystery solved.” Jane took the note back, and Maura caught a glimpse of it over her shoulder. Square letters, written in all caps with a heavy but precise hand. Maura’s eyes flashed over them only for a split second, but the sight was enough to trigger a nauseous twist in her stomach.

“Oh, Korsak, this is Maura. I mean, Dr. Isles,” Jane was saying, but Maura’s head was spinning too much to fully process her words.

She vaguely registered Korsak’s hand reaching out to shake hers. She took it with a numb smile, her mouth running through the customary pleasantries automatically. Behind her eyes, however, she was remembering where she’d seen that very same handwriting before: the coded message she’d received in the middle of the night. Suddenly, that note seemed a whole lot more suspicious.

She shouldn’t jump to conclusions. She’d only seen this new note for a few seconds; it was possible she was mistaken, and they had been written by two completely different hands. Far be it from Maura to guess on the basis of such scant evidence. And yet… there was something to be said for the power of instinct. Deep down, Maura _knew_ in some less-than-rational way that the handwriting was the same, or at least highly similar.

If there existed any appropriate time to tell Jane about her note, it was probably now. She could show it to Jane, and they could compare the handwriting samples together. This could be done the scientific way—the _right_ way, until Maura had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that the message she’d received had come from none other than Paddy Doyle. She and Jane could bring him to justice together, through proper legal channels. But Maura felt herself hesitate yet again.

There was a morbid sort of curiosity lurking within her; there always had been, ever since she had been a little girl more fascinated with cadavers than baby dolls. Paddy Doyle was a cold-blooded killer, but he had information that might be inaccessible to her in any other way. Was it really so wrong for Maura to want to know _everything_?

*

When Maura’s birthday arrived, it felt like a shock. It shouldn’t have; she had been counting down the days in her head, mentally preparing herself for the choice she would have to make that night. At midnight, someone—most likely Paddy Doyle, notorious outlaw gang leader and possible guilty party in a recent string of murders—would be waiting for her down by the river. At midnight, she’d have to decide whether the mere possibility of information was worth potentially dying for.

Oh, but who was she kidding? There was no real choice.

At a quarter to midnight, Maura had finished donning her most practical dress and shoes (she’d learned her lesson about nice shoes in Echo Station by now). An unlit kerosene lantern sat on her table, ready to be lit when she was safely out of view of the town. Maura adjusted her holster around her waist, making sure it was concealed by the jacket she had put on to ward off the night chill.

She had been adamant about not wanting to carry a pistol, but Jane had insisted. _At least until we find whoever’s behind all this, okay, Maur?_ She’d come over that night after they had discovered Paddy’s note on the door, wordlessly handing the gun over as soon as she walked in. They’d gone out back of Jane’s house, and Jane had set up a series of targets, which Maura had proceeded to mostly miss. Maura had been surprised, however, to find Jane a patient teacher, though there was something notably tense in her expression as she grimly demonstrated how to load and shoot the pistol.

Although Maura was by no means a good shot after her limited lessons, she had to admit that it _did_ make her feel slightly better to know she would not be attending this meeting unarmed. If this was all some sort of trick, at least she wouldn’t be completely defenseless.

The night was silent in a distinctly western way when Maura stepped outside—which was to say, there weren’t any discernable human noises. Instead, the low hum of crickets chirping mingled with the rush of wind through leaves and the rhythmic croaking of frogs. Maura’s eyes scanned the darkness, alert to any danger as she made her way down to the river. Even the slightest sound made her head snap around to investigate, but she tried to keep her breathing measured. Some fear would keep her vigilant; too much would paralyze her. If anyone lurked in the shadows, however, they were well-hidden.

She had brought the note along with her just in case, but she knew the words by heart by now: _be at the river at midnight on the night of the next new moon._ Well, that was vague. Where along the river was she supposed to go? The author of the note really should have been more specific, Maura thought, channeling her remaining nervousness into irritation.

The town was fully out of sight now, not that much of it had been visible in the darkness to begin with. Maura wandered with the river on her right side to guide her, leading her out of town and toward the mines. She was more than far enough to safely light her lantern, but as her eyes became more adjusted to the darkness, she found that it wasn’t necessary. Her fear settled into a heightened perception of the world around her, from the roots beneath her feet to the bright stars that shone down from above, unhindered by moonlight. She looked up, finding the constellation Cygnus easily between the outlines of trees. It took a bit of effort for Maura to picture the image of a swan superimposed over the cross-shaped arrangement of stars—the ancient Greeks had certainly had more imagination than her—but it felt oddly reassuring when she did, like there was some greater entity there to guide her. Cygnus was a fascinating constellation, marked by a well-known asterism called the Northern Cross. It had been discovered in the second century by the Greek astronomer Ptolemy, who, although incorrect on many of the finer points of the field (for example, geocentrism), had certainly—

“Maura.”

The voice jarred her out of her history recitation, and Maura immediately whirled around, pulling her pistol out of its holster and aiming it into the darkness. _En garde._ Pistols weren’t the same as sabres, but her fencing days had at least taught her to remain vigilant.

He seemed to melt out of the shadows before her eyes. Though she’d never seen the man in person before, his features were unmistakably the same as the ones she’d seen sketched on the wanted posters: glittering shark-like eyes, slanted eyebrows, a slight arrogance in the curve of his lips. It was Paddy Doyle who stood before her, chuckling at the sight of the pistol in her hand as though it were no more than a child’s toy.

“Did your little friend the sheriff give that to you?” He paused, seeming disappointed when she didn’t rise to the taunt. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring your knight in shining armor to protect you.”

Maura gripped the pistol tighter, refusing to let him get under her skin. “Why did you send me a message?”

“Put the gun down, Maura. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Why should I trust you?” she asked, pistol still trained on him. She had it pointed at his leg—a shot to incapacitate rather than to kill. Even Maura’s unreliable aim was unlikely to fail at such close range.

Those predatory eyes flashed, and he stepped forward towards her; involuntarily, Maura moved back, hating herself the moment she realized what had happened. _Show no weakness_.

The movement hadn’t escaped Paddy, either. He chuckled. “If I’d wanted you dead, I would have killed you already.”

“So why don’t you want me dead?” Maura hated this—asking so many questions and getting no satisfying answers.

“I’m not in the habit of answering questions at gunpoint.”

“I’m not in the habit of meeting killers in the woods at midnight,” Maura snapped back, “but I guess we’re both going to have to do some things we don’t like tonight.”

“Killers?” He raised an eyebrow. It was an eerie gesture—the rest of his face was completely still and impassive, like some sort of carnival mask.

Maura held her ground. “That’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“I know what you’ve heard about me. Most of it’s true.”

_Including that you’re responsible for the latest series of brutal murders?_ Maura wanted to ask, but she held her tongue. Antagonizing the man wasn’t likely to get her the information she wanted. _Honey catches more flies than vinegar._ An adage often attributed to Benjamin Franklin, although originally derived from Giovanni Torriano’s 1666 book on Italian proverbs.

“But?” she asked, letting him think he was controlling the conversation.

“You should know, I’ve always kept an eye on you.”

The statement should have come off as creepy, but there was an odd sort of affection in his voice as he said it. Something wavered behind the grey, shark-like eyes; Maura saw the corners of his expression soften. Her first instinct was to assume it was an act—outlaw gang leaders couldn’t be trusted, after all—but as he held her gaze, she realized that it seemed genuine. But…

“Why?”

He stepped closer, placing his hand on the muzzle of her gun and pushing it down until it was aimed at the ground; stunned, she let it happen, finding herself frozen to the spot.

“I always look out for my family.”

“You’re _not_ my family.” Maura was surprised at the coldness of her own tone and the way she hissed the words, but even as she did so, she was searching his face in the darkness. Was there a resemblance? Maybe something in the nose, the glittering intelligence behind his eyes… but maybe it was deeper than that. Less physical.

She’d always known there was something different about her, to prefer the company of cadavers to living, breathing people. It should come as no surprise that she was the daughter of a killer.

“You want proof?” he asked, producing a bundle of photos from his jacket pocket and handing them to her.

Even in the dim starlight, she recognized the subject of the first photo: the same woman from the photograph she’d received in the chest, only this time smiling and holding a baby. _Hope and Maura,_ read the blocky letters printed on the back. So _“Hope is a waking dream”_ hadn’t just been an Aristotle quote after all.

Maura flipped through the rest quickly. A picture of her as a toddler in a lacy white dress. A portrait of the Isles family when Maura was about twelve. A newspaper clipping announcing her enrollment as the first female medical student to attend Boston Cambridge University. And the most recent photograph that Maura had had taken, at Constance’s request, just before she had left for Echo Station.

“You look just like your mother,” Paddy said, and Maura knew he wasn’t talking about Constance.

“Hope?”

He nodded.

“Why—” she started, then cut off. _Why did you give me up? Who is she? What is she like?_ She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she settled on an easier question. “Where is she now?”

“San Francisco.”

Maura shook her head, trying to understand it all. It seemed like too much of a coincidence for them to all end up here, years later.

“Did you have anything to do with my coming out here?”

“I put in a good word.” His face gave away nothing.

Her eyes narrowed. “A man like Sean Cavanaugh would never trust your word.”

“What Cavanaugh doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Maura couldn’t help but feel a stab of disappointment at that. She should have known this position was too good to be true; what self-respecting Western town hired a female doctor? What Western town even _hired_ a doctor from Boston, anyway, instead of just recruiting someone from California? Emotion had blinded her to reality—instead of evaluating the logic of the situation, she’d let her excitement get the better of her.

“What do you want from me?” she asked finally, shoving her disappointment to a tiny corner in the back of her mind. There was no point in dwelling on it now.

“Come to San Francisco with me.”

She frowned. “No.”

“Maura.” He fixed her with those silvery eyes. “I’m sure your mother would be happy to see you.”

Something inside her burned. Paddy Doyle may have been her father—on a biological basis alone—but that did not make him her keeper. It did _not_ give him the right to guilt trip her into meeting a woman who had presumably not wanted her in the first place.

“No!” The word tore its way out of her throat with startling force. “No, you don’t get to tell me to drop everything on _your_ whim.”

“Blood is thicker than water.”

“You’re wrong. _The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb_ ,” she quoted back at him. There was proof of that in her own life, in the bond she already shared with Jane. “We may share the same blood, but that does _not_ make you my family.”

His lack of a reaction was unsettling, and she wondered if perhaps that was what others thought when they looked at her—that she was cold, impervious, eyes flickering with some kind of deep analysis rather than emotion. Maybe this was the explanation about herself that she had always sought, even if the truth wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Her father killed for a living, placed his ice pick between ribs and in eye sockets with medical precision. She dissected the bodies, opened them up and read secrets spelled out in ruptured vessels and decaying entrails. In a way, weren’t they two sides of the same coin?

“I won’t force you,” he said, already fading back into the shadows. “But consider my offer.”

And then he was gone, twisting like smoke back into the blackness of the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, y'all. You know how I said this was a slow burn? Well, without spoiling anything, I think y'all are really going to like what's in store for the next chapter...


	10. intoxicating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bio prof from last semester would KILL me for this after all the history we studied, but we’re just gonna pretend that Darwin’s and Mendel’s theories were more accepted than they were at the time. Because it fits thematically, even though poor Mendel was unappreciated for the longest time. Also, Maura totally would’ve been ahead of the curve in believing in evolution and genetic inheritance. I rest my case.  
> Enjoy! :D

Riding was always a surefire way to improve Jane’s mood. It had been ever since she’d been a little girl getting underfoot while her father tacked up, dreaming of the day when she’d be able to sit up there on the horse’s back. She’d always imagined that it would be something like flying—the wind in her hair, the ground beneath so far away as she galloped across the fields. Though Jane was a lot taller now, and the ground didn’t seem so far away anymore, little Janie had been right about one thing: when she was seated on Jo Friday’s back, she really did feel free.

The late afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders as she turned Friday down the trail, glancing behind her to make sure Maura was still following. Sure enough, the doctor had turned Herschel—still a _ridiculous_ name, Jane thought—onto the trail behind her, and Jane couldn’t help the hint of a smile that came to her lips.

Though it had been several days since her impromptu sleepover at Maura’s house, Jane hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. She’d thought maybe holding Maura like that would get it all out of her system; there was some part of her that naively hoped that letting herself give into temptation just this once would make her realize that it wasn’t anything serious, only a matter of curiosity.

Instead, the opposite had happened. If it had been hard resisting the urge to think about kissing Maura before, it was now a hundred times worse. Now that the door had been cracked open even a little, Jane’s brain seemed to think it had free license to imagine her and Maura in a series of increasingly more compromising positions. Which made it a bit hard to think straight when she and Maura so much as made eye contact these days.

Not that she’d seen much of Maura recently. In fact, even though Jane wasn’t prone to overthinking, she had a suspicion that the doctor had been actively avoiding her.

It was odd, to say the least. Jane had thought things had been better between them that morning when she’d woken up—after she’d realized it was Maura and not Hoyt waking her, that was—but then they’d gotten to the crime scene, and Maura had become distant again. Even when Jane had gone over to her house that night, under the guise of teaching her how to use a gun, there had been something just a little… reserved about her demeanor. Well, more reserved than usual. Jane couldn’t consider herself an expert in all things Maura Isles just yet, but she was confident in her ability to read people, and it hadn’t been hard to tell that something was up.

And so she’d invited Maura on this ride. Frankly, she’d been surprised at how little hesitation Maura had expressed at the idea. It wasn’t that Jane intended for it to be an interrogation, but she had to admit she’d planned the trip so they could talk privately. Maybe if it was just the two of them, away from Echo Station and prying mothers and dead bodies, Jane would finally be able to figure out what, exactly, was so bad that Maura wouldn’t tell her.

They rode in silence; the trail wasn’t wide enough to accommodate two horses side by side, which made conversation difficult. The narrow path wound up the side of the hill in lazy switchbacks, lulling Jane into tranquility as Friday’s hooves trod the seldom-traveled track. This was one of Jane’s secret places, the ones she kept hidden from everyone—the townspeople, her colleagues, and most importantly, her family. The Rizzolis were loving, but holy shit, could they ever be nosy. Sometimes a girl just needed a breath of fresh air away from all that. And yet somehow, it felt right to bring Maura here.

Jane dismounted once they’d reached the top of the hill. The trees were thinner here, and as she turned back, Jane had a clear view of the forest below. Flashes of bright water wove through the greenery, and smoke drifted lazily up between the trees, the only visible sign of the town they’d left behind. She offered a hand to Maura, who declined and dismounted by herself.

“Careful there, hotshot.”

Maura gave a knowing smile. “I don’t need you to be my white knight, Jane.”

“Oh, _noo_ , please don’t start talking about the chivalric code again,” said Jane, only partially joking. She didn’t know if she could survive what was sure to be a long lecture on Maura’s part about a subject that would’ve put her right to sleep back in her school days. (Although truth be told, they hadn’t learned that kind of stuff at the little one-room schoolhouse in Echo Station. It wasn’t exactly useful information when you lived in a gold-mining town.)

“Fine,” Maura conceded, hitching Herschel to a nearby tree before returning to stand next to Jane. “I suppose we can discuss the _Historia regum Britanniae_ another day.”

“Was that even English?”

“Latin, actually.”

“Figures you would know Latin.” Jane kicked at a rock with her boot, suddenly unsure of how to steer the conversation in the right direction. _Shit._ Why did this stuff always have to be so hard?

“Jane, I—” Maura started, just as Jane said, “I think we—”

They looked at each other for a moment. Jane felt her eyes drift down to Maura’s lips, then cringed when she realized how intently Maura was studying her face. There was no way in hell that Maura had missed the fact that Jane was not, in fact, looking her in the eye.

She cleared her throat. “Uh. You can go first, I guess.”

“I was just going to comment that you seem rather preoccupied.”

“Well—yeah.” No lie there, Jane supposed.

“Why?”

“There’s something you’ve been keeping from me,” she said bluntly, shushing Maura when she made as if to speak. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope, it’s my turn to do the talking.”

“Only if I get to talk after you’re done.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “No, after I’m done, you’re never gonna be allowed to speak again.”

“…that’s sarcasm.”

“Wow, how did you ever guess?”

Maura’s glare spoke for itself.

“Fine, yes, it’s sarcasm, you’ll get a turn after I’m done talking.” Jane ran a hand through her hair, trying to find the right words. “Okay. Uh, I just… I want you to be honest with me. Alright?”

Maura shrugged. “I can’t lie, Jane.”

“Yeah, well, apparently that hasn’t made this any easier.”

“Made what easier?” Maura moved to put a hand on Jane’s arm, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to lean into the touch or pull away. Everything would be so much simpler if Jane could just figure out what she wanted.

She sighed. “Look, Maura, I know you know what I’m talking about because however oblivious you may be, you’re sure as hell not stupid. Whatever secret you’ve been keeping, it’s getting old.”

“Are you finally admitting that your detective skills aren’t flawless, Sheriff?” Maura asked lightly, her eyes shining with an attempt at good-natured humor.

“It’s not funny. And you’re deflecting again.”

Maura’s face darkened, and she nodded. “I am.”

“So are you gonna tell me?”

Biting her lip, Maura stepped back and away from Jane almost reflexively, as if she were subconsciously putting some distance between them. The wind ruffled her hair, which had been tied back with a brightly colored scarf to keep it from becoming unruly during the ride, and Jane couldn’t help the little stab of affection that shot through her. _Focus, Rizzoli._ The point right now was _not_ to admire Maura’s obvious beauty.

“If I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t do anything rash.”

Jane nodded. Easy enough. “Fine.”

“No, I mean it, Jane.” Maura’s voice and eyes were pleading.

“I said fine, didn’t I?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” Jane said, an odd swirling in the pit of her stomach. Maura looked dead serious.

“Can we sit down somewhere?” Maura asked, and Jane nodded.

She reached out for Maura’s hand, then withdrew just as quickly to gesture toward a little rock outcropping. Specks of mica glittered in the granite, and when Jane sat down, she felt the roughness of the rock under her hands. Below, the hill sloped off into thickets of oak and manzanita, the valley and the winding river sprawled out beneath them like a map. Jane swung her legs back and forth, wincing a little when her heel made contact with the rock wall.

Maura settled herself next to Jane, neither of them looking at each other. For a moment, everything was silent; it was almost as though nature were holding its breath right alongside Jane, a disconcerting absence of sound that made Jane break the spell by fidgeting where she sat. She turned her head towards Maura, admiring how regal she looked in profile; Maura, meanwhile, stared straight ahead, only her lips seeming to move as she spoke.

“I met Paddy Doyle in the woods on my birthday.”

“You _what_?” Jane’s mind couldn’t seem to process the words. There were just so many things to deal with—Paddy Doyle? Maura alone in the woods? Her _birthday_?—that made the sentence incomprehensible. Somehow, the only question Jane could manage was, “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?”

Maura turned back to Jane, her face still perfectly serious. “It wasn’t relevant in light of the current situation.”

Blowing a long breath out of her nose, Jane shook her head, trying to take it all in. “I just… sometimes things aren’t about what’s _relevant_.”

“But sometimes they are.”

“Life isn’t some equation where you get to decide what’s important to me!”

“It would have distracted you from the case,” Maura said evenly. “Therefore, it wasn’t relevant.”

“Okay, but—Paddy Doyle? That’s definitely relevant!” Jane could feel herself getting angry, her voice getting louder. “I mean, Maura, that could be the key to this whole damn thing, do you get that?”

“I do.”

For a moment, Jane’s brain froze, completely unable to form words as she opened and closed her mouth like some stupid fish.

God, how could Maura be so fucking _calm_?! Her face was like stone; even her eyes were inaccessible to Jane, fixed somewhere in the far distance. Jane had wished, in the past weeks, to be more like Maura—more level-headed, less prone to thoughtless outbursts—but now it just seemed unnatural, the way Maura was sitting there. Jane’s head swirled with emotions she couldn’t put a name to. Anger, definitely, and fear, not just for Maura but for herself. This was the sort of reckless decision _Jane_ would make. Maura was supposed to be the careful one, the one that Jane didn’t have to worry about. She already had enough people to protect, between Ma and her brothers and the entirety of Echo Station. She didn’t want to have to be afraid of losing Maura, too.

“You could’ve gotten yourself kidnapped or—or _killed_ , and none of us would have had any idea!” Jane snapped at last, her left hand roughly pulling up a little plant from between the cracks in the rock. She couldn’t even look at Maura anymore, instead keeping her eyes on her fingers as she destroyed the weed. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I…” Maura’s voice trailed off, and Jane waited for her to continue. She focused on turning the little plant into green confetti, letting the tiny pieces flutter down onto the surface of the rock. But Maura stayed silent.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Jane…”

There was something strangled in Maura’s voice this time that made Jane look up at her again. Instantly, a little stab of guilt pierced her chest—Maura’s face had crumpled, and tears were already beginning to well up in her eyes.

_Shit._ No matter how angry she had been, Jane hadn’t wanted to make Maura _cry_. Maybe there had been a part of her that didn’t really think Maura was capable of such a human emotion when she seemed so superhuman in every other aspect. Which made Jane feel even guiltier because honestly, Maura was a saint to have put up with her impatience for this long. It was about time Jane stopped putting her on a pedestal and started recognizing that she had feelings, too.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said immediately, reaching out a tentative hand and placing it on Maura’s shoulder. It made her feel only slightly better when Maura didn’t pull away. “Uh… can I hug you?”

Maura nodded wordlessly, burying her head in the crook of Jane’s neck as Jane wrapped her arms around her. Closing her eyes, Jane focused on keeping her breathing steady, hoping that maybe it would be as comforting for Maura as it was for her. Why was it that she never got the opportunity to hug Maura under normal circumstances? It always had to be something dramatic and emotional, which were two things Jane was not a fan of.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Jane murmured after a while.

She felt rather than heard Maura’s response, a quick nod of her head against Jane’s shoulder. They sat like that for a while longer, Maura perfectly still in Jane’s arms until she sat up, shrugging off Jane’s embrace.

Maura wiped the tears from her eyes, looking fragile but resolute. “No, you’re right. It _is_ relevant. He’s my father.”

Jane frowned. “What?”

“Paddy. He’s my father. That’s why he asked me to meet him.”

“But… you’re from Boston. Paddy’s been here for _years_ ,” Jane said, attempting to rationalize. Maura couldn’t possibly be related to an outlaw leader, could she?

“I was adopted. I’ve always known that, I just didn’t know the truth about my biological parents.”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows, gaze flickering over Maura’s face suspiciously. “…you seem to be taking this surprisingly well.”

Maura shrugged. “There’s no point in dwelling on things that cannot be changed. It’s irrational.”

“Maura. Not everything in life is rational. It’s okay to have feelings about this.”

Maura’s sigh was short and almost exasperated, but she didn’t say anything else; Jane just looked at her, trying to get a read on her body language. Maura held herself stiffly, sitting on the rock as though it were some sort of throne, but that was just typical. Even after the weeks she’d spent in Echo Station, Jane hadn’t quite been able to draw out Maura’s wild side. Probably because what Maura considered ‘wild’ was just a normal day to Jane.

Looking into Maura’s eyes, Jane let herself examine the micro-expressions that flitted across her face. It was true that Maura wasn’t always the most emotive person, but there were little things if you knew what to look for—and Jane did. That sigh of air Maura released from her lungs, the way her mouth crinkled up feebly on one side, the distant look behind her eyes even though she gazed back at Jane. Those were the little clues that told Jane that all she needed to do was be patient. Admittedly, not one of her finer skills, but Jane figured she could try extra hard. She wasn’t looking to make Maura cry twice in one day.

Maura sighed again. “I just can’t stop thinking… what if I’m like him, Jane?”

“Like Paddy?” Jane couldn’t help her incredulous snort. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I ever ‘kid’?” Maura put air quotes around the last word, as though she’d prefer a more formal term.

“Good point.”

“Have you read any of Darwin’s work?”

“Uh. Can’t say I have.” Jane would’ve asked Maura to explain, but she guessed (correctly) that she didn’t need to ask. She was about to be subjected to an explanation whether she wanted it or not.

“Well, Darwin theorized that offspring inherit certain traits from their parents that make them more or less likely to survive until they are reproductively viable,” Maura said, and Jane did her best to keep up. “Until recently, the laws that governed this inheritance were relatively unknown, but Gregor Mendel’s recent work using the common garden pea, _Pisum sativum_ , suggests that traits are directly passed down from parent to offspring.”

“So?” Jane had a guess as to what Maura was getting at, but she wasn’t about to validate Maura’s worries by saying so.

“So Paddy is my father. My _biological_ father. Which means we likely share certain traits.”

“But that’s just a theory, right?”

“Scientific theories and regular theories aren’t the same thing, Jane.” Maura’s words were calm, but her eyes were wide and frightened. “Theories in the scientific sense must have several lines of experimental evidence in support of them. And while Darwin’s and Mendel’s works are fairly new, the evidence is quite compelling.”

“Yeah, in _pea plants_. Not people,” Jane scoffed. “No offense, but I think it’s bullshit, Maura. You’re the one who decides who you’re going to be. It doesn’t matter who your father is.”

“That’s not the only thing.”

Jane bit her lip. Maura had been right to make her promise not to do anything rash; she had half a mind to hunt down Paddy Doyle and beat him within an inch of his life. Not that she hadn’t already been planning to do that. But now that he’d messed with Maura, Paddy had made it personal, as far as Jane was concerned.

“Whatever else he said, I’m sure it’s also bullshit,” she said blithely.

“Maybe,” Maura conceded, the faintest trace of a smile crossing her lips before fading away again as her features darkened into something between anger and uncertainty. “Paddy is the one who arranged for me to come here. Not Cavanaugh.”

“Well, at least he got that one right. You’re the best damn doctor we’ve ever had.”

“That’s the problem.” Maura paused, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “What if I’m not?”

“Not a good doctor?” Jane echoed, almost dumbfounded. How Maura could ever doubt her medical skills was beyond Jane’s comprehension. “Okay, now you’re _really_ being ridiculous.”

Maura sighed. “I’m not so sure. I never believed it before, but in medical school… there were rumors that the professors favored me because I’m a woman.”

“Didn’t you graduate at the top of your class?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Okay, stop.” Jane held up a hand, cutting Maura off mid-sentence. “What happened to being rational? Come on, Maur. Even if you won’t believe me when I say you’re great at your job, look at the facts. The women in town say you’re the best midwife they’ve ever had. Old Mr. Jones told me his joint aches have gone away because of whatever ‘magic remedy’ you gave him. The Thompson kid would never have pulled through if it weren’t for your quick thinking. And those are just a few examples. Not to mention your forensics skills. I’d be lost without you.” _Maybe in more ways than just professionally_.

Maura reached out and took Jane’s hand, giving it a grateful squeeze before dropping it again. “Thank you for saying that, but I just… sometimes wish I were more like you.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Like me? Why on earth would you want that?”

“You’re so brave.” Jane opened her mouth to respond, but Maura shook her head. “I distinctly recall you saying I’d get a turn to talk.”

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Jane huffed, unable to keep the pouty tone out of her voice as she pretended to zip her mouth and throw away the key. (Maura dutifully ignored the gesture.)

“You’re always so willing to throw yourself into danger if it means protecting the people and things you hold dear. And I—I’m just not built that way.” Maura bit her lip. “I… _know_ , on an intellectual level, that I am capable, but no matter how hard I try, I’m not brave like you. I don’t think I ever will be.”

There was a long silence before Maura gave her a pointed glare. Jane mimed hunting around for the key before unlocking her lips and unzipping them with an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, I’m allowed to speak now?” She batted her eyelashes in a fake show of innocence.

“ _Jane._ ”

“Sorry,” she said, but she wasn’t. “Okay, I’m gonna play the doctor for a bit here and officially diagnose you with chronic bullshit-spewing-itis.”

Maura rolled her eyes, but this time it seemed fond rather than annoyed. “That is _not_ a real disease.”

“Yes, it is, Dr. Isles, and I know because you clearly have a bad case of it.” Jane grinned. “Look, wherever all this self-doubt came from, you can send it right back, okay?”

“That’s rather easier said than done.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jane sighed, feeling the gravity of the situation hit her again. “The thing is, Maur, there are lots of kinds of bravery. Just because you don’t shoot pistols and chase bad guys on horseback doesn’t mean you’re not brave. You’re just… brave in a quieter way.”

When Maura didn’t say anything, Jane took her hand, surprising herself with how intimate it felt. She’d held Maura’s hand many times, but never quite like this. It was futile to even try to keep her heartbeat from accelerating, quivering like a little bird in her chest as she looked into those impossibly clear eyes, watching the way Maura’s eyelashes fluttered when she blinked.

“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” she said, heartbeat thundering in her ears. She had no consciousness of the words she was saying, but somehow that didn’t matter. Jane felt sure of herself. “And not to be sappy or anything, but being around you makes me feel stronger, too. I kinda can’t remember what my life was like before you got here. And I don’t think I want to.”

“Jane…” Maura was biting her lip, and Jane couldn’t tell if the tears in her eyes were happy or sad. Happy, she hoped, but she didn’t have a chance to overthink it any further, because Maura’s free hand had come up to cup her cheek, and suddenly Jane couldn’t breathe.

Her hand _was_ much softer than Dean’s, Jane thought in a daze, eyes immediately drawn down to Maura’s lips. Still, she hesitated. Did Maura want this as badly as she did? She didn’t know if she could bear it if Maura pulled away now.

The moment felt like it went on forever. Jane’s pulse pounded in her ears, so loud she wondered if Maura could hear it; her mouth had gone suddenly dry, her breathing ragged. Maura’s eyes were trained intently on hers, fixing her with an indescribable intensity that made Jane feel incapable of even the slightest movement. Her fingers traced lightly across Jane’s cheek as she leaned in closer.

And then Maura’s lips were pressing against Jane’s. The motion was gentle, even chaste, but it sent a shiver through Jane’s body so strongly that she gasped against Maura’s mouth. Her lips felt warm and soft and _so_ much better than Dean’s had, and for a moment Jane almost froze up, struck by the thought that maybe this was what she had been missing for her whole life.

It was funny, how she was so aware of the little things—the brush of Maura’s hair against her cheek, the warmth between their bodies, the way Maura sighed a little against her mouth. Jane’s mind felt suddenly crystal-clear, every sense alive to the wind blowing against her cheek and the scent of dust mixed with Maura’s perfume. She didn’t want to take things too far, too fast, but she couldn’t help herself. Jane tangled her fingers in the hair at the base of Maura’s neck, pulling her in closer.

Thankfully, Maura didn’t seem to mind a bit. Her hand still rested against Jane’s cheek, tipping Jane’s head down towards her as she deepened the kiss, teeth sliding lightly over Jane’s bottom lip in a way that made something flutter in her stomach. God, but _this_ was the sort of life-affirming moment she’d been waiting for. Better than any fantasy Jane’s mind had dreamed up, and there had been a _lot_ of those in the last few days. It was intoxicating, really. Jane felt she could have kissed Maura forever and never gotten nearly enough.

Unfortunately, her lung capacity wasn’t exactly cooperating with that desire. Jane pulled back to take a breath; for a split second, Maura’s mouth chased after hers, but then Maura’s eyes snapped open. They stared at each other for a long moment, Jane’s breath catching in her throat at the look of sheer vulnerability written across Maura’s face. Everything about her was so perfect—from her now-mussed hair to the warm pink blush darkening her cheeks, and, of course, those beautiful just-kissed lips that curved up in a slight smile as she gazed back at Jane. There was something familiar behind her eyes, a kind of affection Jane had seen before but had never been quite able to place.

Jane wanted to say something smooth, or at the very least thoughtful, but she couldn’t think of a damn thing. Any words she could say wouldn’t be enough. Or else they would be too honest and raw for Jane to possibly speak out loud because then Maura would _know_ just how much this had meant, and even if she liked Jane _that way_ , maybe it wasn’t as significant to her as it was to Jane, and—

“We should probably head back into town,” Maura said, almost shyly, looking everywhere but at Jane.

“Yeah,” Jane agreed. She could hear the rasp in her own voice even more than usual. She cleared her throat, hoping she didn’t sound too awkward. “You’re right. Uh, Ma will be expecting me for dinner. Would you maybe wanna come over?”

There was a bashful smile on Maura’s face as she nodded. “I’d like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT FINALLY HAPPENED. Please please please let me know your thoughts, y'all! :)


	11. true politeness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the warm reception to the last chapter!!! I can't tell you how happy it made me that y'all liked it. There are sure to be a few more bumps in the road for our lovely ladies, but the best is also yet to come. Enjoy!

Technically speaking, it wasn’t even night anymore; it was very early in the morning, and Maura found herself wide awake and staring at the white curtains that hung down over her bedroom window. They fluttered like a wayward spirit in the cool breeze that flowed in from the window she had left open, and as she watched, the first rays of morning light crept slowly in, illuminating them from behind.

Well. At least there was an excuse to be awake now, even if she hadn’t slept a wink all night. With a heavy sigh, Maura slipped out of bed and donned a bathrobe. Maybe she could go into the sheriff’s station before anyone else was awake. She could get her work done early in the day, and then she’d have her afternoon free, and it was possible that she wouldn’t run into Jane along the way.

_Jane_. Even the thought of her name sent butterflies fizzing through Maura’s stomach and along every one of her nerves. She’d looked so happy last night at dinner, but then Angela had started giving them strange looks, and Maura had begun to feel as though their secret was written across her face. And what would happen if Angela asked her about it directly? Maura wouldn’t be able to lie, so she would have to tell the truth, and that would ruin everything. So she’d stood suddenly and made some excuse about how she wasn’t feeling well, and then she’d turned down Jane’s offer to walk her home and spent the entire night tossing and turning and wondering how on earth she would be able to face Jane again at work today.

It didn’t help that she’d come home to a note slipped under her front door informing her that a body had turned up. _It most likely belongs to the Williams girl, the one who was kidnapped_ , Frost had written.

Of course, then she couldn’t help but start thinking about the circumstances of the girl’s death, which led her back to the inescapable thought of Paddy Doyle and made the chances of her sleeping that night even slimmer. Between Jane and her father, Maura was becoming a regular insomniac.

But things felt slightly better now that it was daylight again. _If you could come in tomorrow to perform the autopsy, that would be helpful_ , Frost had added at the end of his note, very diplomatically, and so she intended to do exactly that. There were many things in life that Maura could not control, but this was one of the things she could. She would go in and perform this autopsy and be gone before Jane even noticed, goddamnit.

Several minutes later, fully dressed and having had a cup of tea to boost her spirits for the upcoming day, Maura tentatively opened her front door and peeked outside. Thankfully, there was nobody around—it appeared the universe wasn’t out to get her, at least for the moment. Her luck held all the way to the sheriff’s station; the walk was pleasant, if a little chilly, although Maura had become accustomed to that by now. In a way, it was nice to get away from the pressing humidity of the Massachusetts summers. Mornings here were refreshing, a faint scent of pine in the air and dewdrops flinging their way off blades of grass as Maura walked through them.

The front door to the sheriff’s station opened smoothly with her key; she felt satisfied not to have to pick the lock this time. Last week Frost had given her a key of her own, although she hadn’t had the opportunity to use it until now. She and Jane had been so inseparable recently that she simply hadn’t had a need for it.

_Jane_. That little panicky feeling wormed its way into Maura’s stomach again, but she pushed it down and strode resolutely through the empty office and over to the morgue, flinging the door open in a defiant show of force only to be met with a squeal of alarm.

It took Maura a moment to place her, but then—“Susie?” she asked, recognizing the frightened face staring back at her.

“Dr. Isles!” The girl’s face lit up when she recognized Maura, expression transitioning from fright into an enthusiastic smile. “I hoped you might be here.”

“Well, I do work here.” Maura frowned. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Susie looked sheepish. “Oh. Well, I might’ve been curious about the work you do here. I mean, last time I visited, it all seemed so interesting, but—”

“So it’s nothing serious?”

“No.” Susie was giving her a probing look now, stepping closer to Maura; instinctively, Maura took a step back. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Maura said lightly. Which was, technically speaking, true. There was nothing grievously wrong with her, and apparently it was close enough to the truth to prevent the hives from setting in.

Susie was still giving her a funny look out of the corner of her eye, and once again Maura felt caught out, like a guilty child with her hand stuck in the cookie jar. It was the same feeling she’d had facing Angela last night, the churning sensation in her stomach like her secrets were painfully obvious for the world to see. _This is ridiculous, Maura_ , she told herself firmly. Because it _was_. Scientifically speaking, mind readers didn’t exist; it was an impossibility.

“I’m good at reading people,” Susie murmured suddenly, making Maura jump.

_Telepathy does_ not _exist_ , she reminded herself again, trying to school her expression into something resembling nonchalance. All forty-two of her facial muscles felt suddenly out of her control, as if paralyzed by some sort of insidious neurotoxin. Perhaps botulinum toxin, produced by _Clostridium botulinum_ and commonly utilized for cosmetic reasons, such as—

“You’re acting very strangely, Dr. Isles.”

“I’m fine,” Maura repeated, shaking herself out of the downward spiral. She felt the words ring hollow. “Just tired. It’s time to get started on the autopsy.” She paused, turning back to Susie. “Would you like to observe?”

Susie’s eyes went wide. “Would I… yes, of course, I mean—”

Maura held up a hand, feeling a slight smile come to her face. (Well, that was one less thing to worry about—at least it was now confirmed that her facial muscles weren’t paralyzed.)

“Stand here,” she instructed, positioning Susie across the table at a safe distance. If Susie turned out to be as squeamish as Frost, that should give her enough time to turn away and avoid sullying the corpse before she lost her lunch. Or breakfast, given the early hour.

Maura let the movements of her work soothe her, trying her best to ignore Susie’s attentive eyes as she arranged forceps and blades, drew back the sheet over the body to begin the process. She wasn’t used to having others watch her work—well, except for Jane, of course. _Jane._ Why was it that no matter what she was doing, she couldn’t escape the thought of the sheriff and the little jolt of almost-painful longing that came along with it?

Even now, tracing the familiar shape of the Y-Incision down the cadaver’s chest, her mind was elsewhere—back in the sun-bathed clearing at the top of that hill, watching the way Jane kicked her scuffed boots against the granite and wishing, however close they already were, that they could be closer still. She replayed it over and over, the golden rays lighting up Jane’s wild eyes before Maura leaned in and finally closed the distance between them.

“So you’ll remove the organs now, right?” Susie asked, looking exactly like a hyperactive puppy and startling Maura back to the present.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah.” _Goddamnit, I sound like Jane._ “I mean, yes. You are correct.”

Maura had to admit she’d only asked Susie to stay to keep her from being suspicious about… other things, but that ulterior motive soon proved to be unnecessary. She found that the feeling of having Susie watch her work wasn’t an intimidating one; in fact, the look of absolute delight on Susie’s face when Maura glanced over at her only put her more at ease. Maura had never thought she’d enjoy teaching. It was just so much pressure. What if she messed up, said something wrong and misled the students depending on her? But seeing Susie’s smile assuaged those fears, if only for the moment.

She’d very nearly finished removing the organs from the abdominal cavity when there was a knock on the door—three raps, short and sharp and almost annoyed. Maura froze in her tracks, nearly forgetting that she was midway through pulling out the stomach and depositing it into the little metal bowl she’d laid out expressly for that purpose.

_Jane._ What was she going to say? How was she going to explain Susie? Maybe if Susie was here, things would be less awkward. Yes, that was true, Maura reasoned; Jane couldn’t bring up what had happened last night in front of Susie. Hastily depositing the stomach into the bowl, she stripped off her gloves, laid down her forceps, and took a deep breath.

But the voice that echoed through the door—“Can we come in?”—was higher pitched than Jane’s, less gravelly. And besides, Jane would never have asked; she’d have just barged right in, Maura knew that. Susie’s head snapped towards the door at the sound, her body language instantly becoming defensive.

Maura furrowed her brow. “Who is it?”

The door was already swinging open, revealing a disgruntled-looking Madame Lola and another woman, an imposing brunette with a haughty twist to her lips.

“Madame Lola.”

“Let’s dispense with the formalities, shall we, Maura?” The madame’s blue eyes were sharp, at contrast with the sickly-sweet tone of her voice. “I think you’ve been a member of our charming little community long enough for that.”

Maura kept her tone measured, though she found Lola abrasive even beneath the woman’s veneer of attempted civility. “Certainly, Lola.”

Lola inclined her head with a smile, gesturing at the woman standing beside her. “Oh, where _are_ my manners? Maura, I simply must introduce you to my cousin, Cat.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Maura said, reaching out for a handshake; Cat remained where she stood, a slight inclination of her head the only proof that she’d heard Maura at all. “What brings you two here?”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be here long,” Lola said, almost as if she’d sensed Maura’s distaste for her. “I’ve just come to collect Susie, and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh.” Maura paused to glance over at Susie, who had backed away from the autopsy table, putting more space between herself and the two women who had entered. Her eyes looked wide, cheeks flushed; her knuckles were white where her hands grasped her skirts. “Well, Susie has been a major asset to me this morning. Would you mind if I kept her here for a bit longer? I’ll be sure to walk her back once we’re done.”

Lola tapped a long, manicured finger against one of Maura’s storage cabinets, her smile strained as she took one step and then another towards the doctor. “You see, Maura, I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“Susie here skipped out on one of her clients to skulk off to see you. _Very_ unprofessional.” Lola paused, eyes glittering coldly. “You must know by now, mine is a reputable establishment. We simply _can’t_ have our young ladies doing anything that might damage that reputation.”

“I’ll pay for her time,” Maura said calmly. “The work she could do here would be valuable.”

“How generous of you.” Lola’s lip curled up. “But I’m afraid that I do not take such transgressions lightly. Susie!”

At the snap of Lola’s fingers, Susie jerked back to life, taking her place at Lola’s side in an instant. “I’m sor—” she began, but was silenced by a pointed glare from Cat, still standing at attention on Lola’s other side. Her gaze flickered across the room, just as unfathomable as that of her namesake—although her name was probably Catherine, Maura reasoned—until it landed on Maura, who couldn’t help but feel intimidated by something in the depths of her hazel eyes.

“Well, thank you _so_ much, Maura,” Lola said, her face shifting into a conciliatory grin. The cheerfulness of her tone was almost enough to make Maura forget about the poison in her voice mere moments before. “It was truly lovely to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Maura said, staring at Susie and wishing she would make eye contact with her. But the girl’s eyes were downcast, staring directly at the floor as Lola grabbed her roughly by the arm.

Cat held the door for them both, casting one long glance back at Maura before she, too, disappeared, leaving the morgue seeming suddenly much darker than it had been before.

Maura didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the whole thing had been somewhat odd, to say the least. From what Jane had told her of Madame Lola, she was a ruthless businesswoman—although Jane had scoffed at giving her that title—and this interaction certainly fit with that description. She couldn’t help but feel bad for Susie, and for all the other girls under Lola’s care.

Shaking her head, Maura pulled on her gloves again and resumed the autopsy. She worked in silence for a while, removing and weighing all the organs before taking tissue samples from the abdomen. It was odd—the body had clearly moved past the rigor mortis phase, which meant it had been several days since death, and yet the tissue showed remarkably few signs of decay. The internal organs were similarly preserved, with the exception of the stomach, which had an unusually soft texture. Perhaps some sort of poison had been ingested…

Following her instincts, Maura turned her attention to the corpse’s mouth, peeling back the lips to reveal a small piece of white paper clenched between the teeth. Not evidence of poison, although Maura would be sure to swab the gums to determine what she could from that. But this was far more interesting. The paper had faint smudges of brownish-red—Jane would probably guess blood, but Maura refused to conjecture—smeared across it. Gingerly, Maura removed it with her forceps, placed it on the side table, and unfolded it.

_You are too naïve if you do believe life is innocent laughter and fun._

The text was written in an unfamiliar hand, a distinctly feminine script that certainly did not match the notes that had been attributed to Paddy. There was a drawing below, crudely sketched, of a teacup with a striped sort of pattern. What struck Maura as particularly interesting was the crispness of the paper. It had seemingly been unaffected by the moisture of the body. There was no way to tell exactly how long it had been inside the mouth, but Maura was sure the note hadn’t been there since the girl’s death, which had likely been several days prior.

Which meant somebody had planted it there. The question was, who? No one had been alone with the body apart from Maura, and most likely Frost or one of the other deputies who had found it and brought it in. And Susie, Maura realized, which raised another question. How had Susie been able to get into the station so easily, and could someone else have done the same?

The door to the office opened with a bang, causing Maura to jump and knock her bloody forceps to the floor. This time it _was_ Jane—unannounced and loud, as per usual. Maura felt suddenly unsure of what to do with her body; she quickly ducked down and picked up the forceps, feeling that was easier than looking directly at Jane.

“Maura? You in here?” Jane’s voice sounded confused, and Maura realized that she was hidden behind the autopsy table.

Steeling herself and clutching the forceps as if they were some sort of lifeline, she stood. “Hello, Jane.”

“Hi.” Instantly, Jane’s confusion melted into something softer, eyes crinkling up at the edges as she looked at Maura with an intense warmth. “Hey, what are you doing here so early? I thought you would take some time to rest after last night, but you weren’t home, so I figured you might’ve come here. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Maura said lightly. At least it looked like Jane had bought her feigned sickness last night; maybe she was a better liar than she’d thought. “There’s nothing like an autopsy to clear one’s head.”

Jane chuckled. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.” Crossing the room, she stood over the table across from Maura, looking down at the body. “Find anything interesting?”

“Yes, actually.” She gestured at the note. “I can’t be certain, but I don’t think this note was in the victim’s mouth when she died.”

“Do you think it was placed there by the killer?”

Maura shook her head. “Not necessarily. Unless the killer put it there several days after death, most likely in the last twenty-four hours…”

“So how do you think it got there?” Jane was frowning now, staring at the dead girl’s mouth as though that held all the answers.

“I’m not sure,” Maura admitted. “But Susie was here this morning before I got here.”

“The girl from Madame Lola’s?”

She nodded. “Yes. I have no idea how she got in. Lola came to get her a little while ago.”

“Was the door locked when you got here?”

“The front door was. I didn’t check the back.”

With a few long strides, Jane crossed the room to the little door that led out back, turning the handle and roughly pushing it open. It swung out easily. Bending down, Jane ran a fingertip over the handle, scanning the lock for any signs of tampering.

“It’s been picked,” she said grimly, shutting the door again and returning to Maura. “Anyone could’ve gotten in.”

“So it might not have been Susie.”

“Looks that way.” Jane sighed, reaching out for the note and unfolding it. Immediately, her face darkened. “The teacup is Hoyt’s symbol.”

“But the handwriting?”

“Not his.” Jane shook her head, face shifting into what Maura knew to be her look of intense concentration. “Any idea about the words?”

“None at all.” There wasn’t anything readily familiar about the phrase; it wasn’t like the Aristotle quote on the back of the photograph she’d received from Paddy, which she’d recognized immediately.

“Well, I guess that’s just another mystery for us to work out.” Jane let out a long huff of air, distractedly toying with a strand of her hair before dropping it and looking back up at Maura. “How did she die?”

“I haven’t performed the full autopsy yet—” Maura began, but Jane cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, you can’t tell me for sure, but what _do_ you know?”

“The decomposition process is unusual. Rigor mortis set in, as would be expected several hours post-mortem, but the muscles are now relaxed, and the body is remarkably well-preserved. I would estimate that she was killed soon after she was kidnapped.”

“But that was several days ago now. Wouldn’t she be, well…” Jane made a face.

“Decayed? Yes, I would expect so.”

“So why isn’t she?”

Maura couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. There was something satisfying in being able to explain these things to Jane, to know that her knowledge was a valuable piece in the puzzle. Besides, this particular case—however morbid—was an especially interesting one. Using her forceps, she poked at the stomach in the bowl, showing Jane its unusual texture.

“The stomach is unusually decomposed compared to the rest of the body’s organs. It has a soft, pulpy texture that indicates some sort of trauma, although in this case it is not the result of a direct physical blow.”

Jane was starting to look annoyed (too late, Maura remembered Jane’s aversion to stomachs and their contents in particular), but she let Maura continue. “Yeah, and?”

“Well, given the unusual lack of decay and the state of the stomach, I feel confident in saying that our victim has been poisoned using arsenic.” Maura gave a triumphant smile. “I’ll need to run more tests to be sure, of course,” she added as an afterthought.

“You and your tests.”

“ _Jane_.”

“Fine, fine, do your science-y stuff.” Jane’s voice was gruff, but she was smiling.

“You like my ‘science-y stuff,’” Maura said, laying the forceps aside in favor of making air quotes with her gloved hands and accidentally flicking a bit of some internal organ across the room at Jane, who made a face.

“I’d like it a lot better if it weren’t getting all over my shirt,” she complained. “Seriously, Maur, this is a new one!”

Maura shook her head, half fond and equally as exasperated. “It looks the same as all your other shirts.”

Jane opened her mouth as though to argue, that adorable little frown crossing her face before she gave a shrug and a sigh.

“You can admit that I’m correct any time you like.” Maura wiped down her forceps, peeling off her soiled gloves and walking across the room to set them next to a basin of water.

“Fine, but you don’t have to gloat,” Jane grumbled.

“Gloat? Me?” Maura widened her eyes. “I would never.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jane said fondly, and suddenly she was right up against Maura, pushing her back against the table with a look that sent butterflies swarming through Maura’s stomach. (She tried hard not to think, in the moment, of the mechanism by which said butterflies occurred, especially in light of the stomach she had been examining a few minutes prior. Science _did_ have a habit of ruining the mood sometimes.)

Maura opened her mouth—maybe to tease, she wasn’t sure—but Jane was leaning in, her lips hovering close to Maura’s, and, well, she supposed Jane had succeeded in her mission to shut Maura up. Jane’s hands were on either side of her, trapping Maura between her body and the table. There really was _far_ too much fabric between them, Maura thought, heart pounding as Jane leaned in closer. She wanted nothing more than to give in, to let their lips meet the way they had on that hill last night, but—

“Wait,” Maura gasped, managing to pull back. “We—I mean, not here. Someone could see us.”

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, you’re right.” But Jane didn’t make any move to step away, looking dazed.

Maura searched Jane’s face for any sign of understanding. “This isn’t a good idea, Jane.”

“Yeah. Of course.” A flash of understanding went through Jane’s eyes as she snapped out of her trance. She stepped back abruptly, looking awkward, and Maura hated to admit how much she wished she could grab Jane’s wrists and pull her back against her.

“We should talk about… this.”

Jane’s eyes landed everywhere but Maura. “What’s there to talk about?”

_Everything_ , Maura’s brain said. How were they going to manage to hide a secret like this? Especially when Maura couldn’t lie. Frost already knew—he’d guessed before anything had even happened, that was how transparent Maura had been. Her brain short-circuited, trying to find an easy way to tell Jane.

“Rule number one,” she recited, “it is, in general, bad taste for ladies to kiss each other in the presence of gentlemen, with whom they are but slightly acquainted.”

Jane frowned, still looking down and fiddling with her pistol. “What?”

“It’s from a book. _True Politeness, A Hand-Book of Etiquette For Ladies_ ,” Maura explained. “My mother had me read it as a child.”

“Yeah, okay, but what does that have to do with _us_?”

“I… you know I don’t have the best poker face.” When Jane didn’t say anything, Maura went on. “Kissing me, Jane, it’s… well, there are some who would consider it improper. We have to be careful. I’m not ashamed, but if anyone were to—”

“I know,” Jane interrupted, finally looking her in the eyes again. “I understand, Maura, I promise.”

Maura could hear it in Jane’s voice: the heaviness, the resignation. Jane knew. It was written across her face, and it made Maura wonder just how ashamed Jane had been of who she was, and for how long. Maura had felt it, too, back in the first days with Charlotte, and the guilt had seemed almost all-consuming for a while. Even once the guilt subsided, there was always the fear. No matter how at peace Maura felt with herself, the world would never feel the same way. She would always be on edge, always hiding from those who would either see her married off to a good man or chased out of town for her sins.

“I think we should go away for a few days,” Jane said suddenly, and Maura couldn’t quite decipher the emotion behind her eyes. “To Aurora.”

“They won’t miss us here?”

“Frost can handle himself for a few days. And besides, there are some leads I want to follow up with. I have a few contacts in Aurora that might be able to get me more information on Doy—on, uh, some people related to the case,” Jane said, stumbling over the last words.

Maura reached out a comforting hand, feeling the little zing of electricity in her stomach all over again when Jane took it. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Jane repeated back to her, sounding almost surprised that Maura had agreed. “Yeah, alright. I’ll talk to Frost and Ma tonight, and we’ll leave in the morning. So have Herschel ready by sunrise.”

“I will,” Maura promised with a smile, giving Jane’s hand a squeeze. “Now we should probably get back to work. I have an autopsy to get through before the end of the day.”

Jane nodded, something uncertain flickering in her eyes before she leaned in to plant the lightest of kisses on Maura’s cheek, her lips barely brushing over the skin there. When she stepped back, dropping Maura’s hand, Jane spun around on her heel and ducked her head. The gesture effectively hid her face behind that long curtain of wavy hair, but not before Maura saw the fierce blush lighting her cheeks.

“I’ll talk to you later!” Jane called over her shoulder as she exited the morgue in a hurry, leaving Maura staring after her with a fond smile and a slight blush of her own.


	12. the wild rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jane is a useless lesbian, Maura is sentimental, and I'm back on my "semi-historical" bullshit. This time we're stretching the truth with regard to translations of Sappho and the existence of lesbian bars in the 1860s. (Although fun fact, the words "sapphic" and "lesbian" have both been around since the 1700s, though the latter was generally used in a derogatory way.)  
> Anyway, thank y'all, as always, for reading and especially for commenting. Enjoy!

The ride to Aurora had never seemed so long. Jane generally enjoyed it—it was relaxing, being on Friday’s back and surrounded by nature on all sides—but not today. Today, despite the fact that they were making good time, all Jane had been able to feel was an itching, restless impatience.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Maura. Specifically, she couldn’t stop thinking about Maura’s lips, and her hands, and the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. It was all very distracting, especially now that she was _allowed_ to think about Maura like this. Jane didn’t have to be ashamed of it anymore, and with nothing else to do but watch the monotony of trees, roots, rocks, and, well, _more trees_ pass by, she was more than happy to let her imagination run wild.

But as nice as it was feeling like she could think these things about Maura, just thinking about it was no comparison to the real thing. Which was the problem. Maura was riding along behind her on Herschel, but the road was a one-track trail, far too narrow for two horses to travel side by side. Which meant that if Jane wanted to get so much as a look at Maura, she had to turn around in her saddle and crane her neck just to smile at her. Never mind talking, which was practically impossible unless Jane planned on hollering at Maura over the sound of the horses’ hooves and the distance between them, which she didn’t think Maura would appreciate very much.

Not that the inconvenience had stopped her from turning around several times just to catch a glimpse of Maura riding along behind her with seemingly effortless grace. (Seriously, how did Maura make everything look so easy? She’d only been riding Western since arriving in California, and yet her form somehow managed to put Jane to shame.) Every time they made eye contact, Maura smiled back at her in a way that made Jane’s stomach flip-flop inside of her. It made her feel like a teenager again—or like a teenager for the first time, really. She’d never felt anything like this before.

By the time they rode up to the little boardinghouse they’d stayed at on Maura’s very first night in California, Jane was near bursting with anticipation. She practically bounced down off Jo Friday’s back, causing Maura to laugh and give her a bemused look as she gracefully dismounted Herschel.

“You’re certainly in a hurry,” Maura commented.

Could she really be blamed for that? Jane leaned in close to Maura’s ear, voice low as she said, “Yeah, Maur, ‘course I’m in a hurry. I’ve missed you.”

“We’ve been together all day—” Maura began, only to halt with an abrupt inhalation of air when she saw the gleam in Jane’s eye. “Oh. Point taken.”

Jane grinned, taking Friday’s and Herschel’s reins and beginning to lead the horses around the back of the boardinghouse. “You want to go talk to the boardinghouse owner and I’ll get these two settled?”

Maura nodded; Jane couldn’t help but smile wider, watching her rummage around in the saddlebag to find her money with that little crease between her brows that meant she was focusing on something. Equally endearing was Maura’s sunny smile when she produced the money from the depths of the bag, leaning over to grab Jane’s hand and give it a squeeze before she set off towards the front door of the boardinghouse.

Jane, for her part, led the horses to the barn out back and began unloading the saddlebags and untacking the horses. It had been a long, dusty day of riding; she made sure the horses had both had their fill of water before checking their bodies for injuries (thankfully, both appeared healthy) and letting them out into the paddock behind the boardinghouse. There was something therapeutic about being in the company of horses and not people; it made Jane feel grounded to have something to take care of like that. Jane wouldn’t say she was the type of person to crave stability or responsibility—quite the opposite, in fact—but this was an exception. Unlike humans, horses didn’t judge.

She watched them in the paddock for a while before slinging the bags over her shoulder and going to join Maura, who she found waiting for her on the front porch, room key in hand. The doctor stood upon seeing Jane with a smile that immediately sent a flood of butterflies rushing through Jane’s stomach.

“Would you like some help with those?”

“Nah, I got it. Just hold the door for me.”

Maura did so, and the two of them trooped up the stairs and onto the second-floor landing, where Jane waited for Maura to lead the way to their room. Surprisingly, she found herself treading a familiar path, stopping in front of the door to the room they’d stayed in before.

“I asked if we could have the same room as last time.” Maura glanced over at Jane as if gauging her reaction. “I hope that wasn’t inappropriately sentimental.”

Judging by the lump in her throat, it was Jane who was the ‘inappropriately sentimental’ one. She cleared her throat. “No, uh, that’s perfect.” _God, I’m getting so soft._

“Are you blushing?”

“What? No!” Jane exclaimed, automatically denying the accusation, but she could feel her face getting hotter and hotter under Maura’s gaze.

Maura gave a pleased hum, looking at Jane out of the corner of her eye as she unlocked the door, holding it open for Jane (and the saddlebags) to pass through. Jane dropped the bags in a heap near the front door, immediately kicking off her boots and sprawling out onto the bed, her long limbs taking up the entirety of the surface.

“You really should change your clothes before you get the linens dirty.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jane smirked. “Trying to get me out of my clothes already, Maura?”

It was Maura’s turn to blush now. “I—that’s not what I—”

“ _Suuuuure_. Deny it all you want, I don’t believe you,” Jane sang out, sitting up so she could grab Maura’s hands and pull her down on the bed next to her.

Jane had fully intended to kiss her then and there, but when she flipped onto her side to face Maura, she found herself momentarily lost in her eyes. _Oh._ Well, this was a new feeling. Jane had long had an aversion to any of the “sappy” things that came along with being in a relationship, lingering eye contact included. She’d been able to tolerate the dinners and dancing alright, but as soon as any man had tried to talk about _feelings_ or stare deep into her eyes, well, that was it. Jane was out of there faster than a bullet from the barrel of her pistol.

And yet, with Maura there was something undoubtedly peaceful about it. Maybe that was because there was no pressure here, no insistence that Jane be anything other than who she truly was. Maura didn’t want to tame her or fix her or get her to settle down and bear children. When Maura looked at her, Jane felt, for possibly the first time in her life, that she was _enough_.

But as lovely as it was looking into Maura’s (dreamy, beautiful, warm) eyes, Jane really _did_ want to kiss her. She’d been wanting to kiss her again ever since the first time, but there had never been a right moment. This morning, with the first rays of sun rising over the mountains and illuminating Maura from behind so she looked like an angel, Jane had considered it. Maura had looked up from adjusting the stirrups on her saddle, and she’d smiled, and Jane had thought it would be so easy to take one, two, three steps and be at Maura’s side. It would have felt so natural to put one hand on Maura’s hip and the other at the back of her neck and lean in until their lips met.

But then Ma had thrown open the door with a _bang_ (Angela had not so much offered to help her pack for the journey as forced herself upon a reluctant Jane), and then that fantasy had been shattered, and Jane had been left to imagine for the endless hours of the ride what it would be like, kissing Maura again. And again. And again…

It was nice not having to imagine anymore, Jane thought, as she closed her eyes and brought their lips together for the second time. There was nothing desperate or feverish about it this time—Jane wasn’t afraid of running out of breath, or of Maura pulling back. Never before had she considered kissing an activity she could lose herself in. The men she’d kissed hadn’t made her head spin like this, like she couldn’t think of anything else; her body had been attuned to them, but her mind had always been elsewhere. She’d thought of her cases, and that she needed to get Friday reshoed, and about what she was going to have for dinner that night. One time, mid-smooch, Jane had had a sudden epiphany about a crime she’d been trying to solve; she’d left the poor guy on his back in the hay, scrambling to her feet with a poorly-worded promise to catch up with him once she caught the outlaw. Needless to say, that had been their last date.

Jane had always just assumed that was the way it was meant to be: good for the guy, tolerable for her. She’d never even considered that there could be anything else until Clara had brought it up, two summers ago now. They’d been swimming, floating lazily on their backs in one of those river eddies where the water idled and ran slow, and Jane had been complaining about all the suitors Ma had kept having over for Sunday dinner. And that was when Clara had said it: _Ya know, Janie, men ain’t the only option._

But even thinking about that had been so daunting, had made her feel so _wrong_ and so right all at the same time, that she’d never dared do anything but imagine the possibility. Until Maura.

And as it turned out, reality was _so much better_ than Jane’s imagination.

*

Maura took _forever_ to get ready. Jane had simply changed her shirt, re-braided her hair, and been done with it, but she’d been sitting on the bed for at least fifteen minutes now, twiddling her thumbs while Maura adjusted every stray hair (even though, to Jane’s eyes, she already looked fine), and smoothed down the many layers of her dress, and did god knew what else to prepare. Jane had, fortunately, gotten the opportunity to help with the corset again, although she suspected Maura didn’t really need her help and had only asked to give Jane something to do so she wouldn’t be so impatient. Whatever the reason, Jane certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Maura finally turned back to her, Jane couldn’t help but tease. “What, you’re going out like _that_?”

“Is there something wrong with my outfit?” Maura looked genuinely concerned.

“Not at all. Took you long enough, though.” Jane grinned, taking Maura’s hand and bringing it up to her mouth for a soft kiss. “You look beautiful.”

“As do you.”

Jane felt herself flush a little at the compliment. Dropping Maura’s hand, she grabbed the room key and held the door open for Maura with a flourish. “M’lady.”

“ _Jane._ ”

“What, too cheesy?”

Maura didn’t even dignify that with a response; laughing, Jane shut and locked the door behind them before dropping the key in her pocket and reaching out for Maura’s hand. She was surprised at how natural it felt, the way their fingers intertwined together, and how _proud_ it made her to walk down the stairs and out onto the street holding Maura’s hand. It was a simple gesture, an open secret—friends held hands, of course, and the casual passersby would be none the wiser as to the nature of their relationship. They were safe from assumptions.

Jane wasn’t sure how she’d feel if she thought people could tell just by looking at them that they were _together_. Maybe she wasn’t ready for that yet, but she decided to accept this small victory. Months ago, she’d hardly dared wish for anything like this; years ago, she would’ve hated herself for even entertaining the idea. Now, though, as she drank in the late summer air, holding Maura’s hand on the street felt right.

“Where are we going?” Maura inquired after a while, with a gentle squeeze of Jane’s hand that sent the butterflies swarming through her stomach again.

For the first time that night, Jane felt nervous. “You remember Clara?”

“Of course. She’s quite the character.”

“Yeah.” Jane couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “She really is. Uh, anyway, she… there’s this place called the Wild Rose.”

Maura frowned. “I believe she mentioned it last time we were in Aurora. But you wouldn’t give me any further information.”

“Uh, yeah.” Jane could feel her words devolve into a sort of mumble. How was she supposed to explain this? “It’s like… a bar. An underground one.”

“Underground?”

“Not literally,” Jane said quickly, knowing how literal Maura could be sometimes. “Just. Secret, I guess.”

“Is it something illegal?” Maura asked, and Jane could see the gears turning in her head. Feeling a rush of fondness come over her, Jane swallowed hard and looked away. Maura really had no idea how adorable it was when she was all focused like that.

“I mean, not really. Kinda?” Jane tried, feeling relieved that they’d reached the building in question. “It’s hard to explain, Maur, I’ll tell you once we’re inside.”

The outside of the building was typical of the other saloons in town—a rough wooden exterior, battered by many years of standing against the often-harsh hailstorms that were relatively common in the winter. Bold letters proclaimed it the “Bandits’ Den,” and as Jane pushed open the door and held it for Maura, the interior of the building certainly lived up to that expectation.

The room was dimly lit by a low-hanging chandelier, several kerosene wicks burning at once to illuminate the large space. The crowd here looked rougher than in the saloons Jane usually frequented; a couple of men wolf whistled at them as they stepped through the door, and as they passed by one particularly rowdy table, one of the men reached out to grab at Jane. Needless to say, her elbow connecting solidly with his nose deterred him from trying anything more. Up front, in a large open space, a lone fiddle player accompanied a husky-voiced female singer as dancers in short skirts gave sultry smiles to their audience, occasionally stopping at one of the tables to brush a hand down the well-formed biceps of the more handsome men.

Maura looked confused; Jane had dropped her hand, but she gave the doctor’s arm a reassuring squeeze and directed her towards the bar in the back.

“Is this a brothel, Jane?”

Jane gritted her teeth. “I know what it looks like, but you’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

Jane’s eyes were scanning the bar for Clara, but she saw no sign of her friend as they approached. Thankfully, they’d managed to make it to the back of the room without any further mishaps involving creepy men, but even so, a little wave of panic was beginning to well up inside Jane. This was a mistake; she shouldn’t have taken Maura here. Maura would probably think it was seedy and low-class, they probably had _far_ nicer places back in Boston, which Jane wouldn’t know because she hadn’t been there since she was ten, and oh, god, Maura was going to laugh at her and then everything would be ruined and—

“Janie!” The twang of her name in Clara’s Southern accent interrupted Jane’s spiral of panic, and she felt an instant surge of relief when she turned to see blonde curls and an infectious smile weaving their way through the crowd towards her.

“Clara!”

“And the good doctor, I see.” Clara gave Jane a wink. “What brings y’all to my part of town?”

“Uhh…” Jane stole a surreptitious glance at Maura out of the corner of her eye before she responded, relieved to see that Maura looked much more composed than Jane felt. “Many crowns of violets.”

“Ah.” Something flashed in Clara’s eyes, and she took Jane by the elbow, leading her and Maura back behind the bar. “Hoped it was somethin’ like that. It’s good to have ya back, Janie.”

Jane swallowed hard past the lump of anxiety in her throat. “Good to be back.”

Clara stopped at the far side of the bar, pulling back a heavy purple curtain and gesturing for Jane and Maura to walk through. Jane reached out once more for Maura’s hand, although whether that was more for Maura’s benefit or her own, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she felt instantly reassured at the brush of Maura’s fingers over hers. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

“I’ll catch up with ya later, Janie,” Clara said with a wink. “Got some newcomers out here I gotta sort out, but after. Yeah?”

Jane nodded, and then Clara let the curtain fall back into place, leaving Jane and Maura in a dimly lit hallway. It was a close space, too tight for Maura and Jane to stand side by side, with walls painted black and only a small wall-mounted candle to illuminate the shadows. They stood face to face now, Jane feeling almost too paralyzed to move beyond the little hallway.

“Was that some sort of passcode, Jane?”

“Huh?”

“The Sappho line. About the violets.”

“You recognized it?” Jane asked lamely, then kicked herself for what was obviously a stupid question. Of course Maura recognized it; she was the most well-read person Jane knew.

Maura nodded, something like a smile toying at her lips, although Jane couldn’t get a good read on her expression in the dim light. “Sappho is one of the greatest lyric poets ever to have lived.”

“So you probably know… other things about her, too.”

“Yes, Jane.” Maura’s voice was warm, comforting. “That’s why you didn’t tell me about this place on my first night here, isn’t it?”

Jane nodded, and when she spoke, the words tumbled out in a rush. “I don’t come here often, just—Clara’s my friend, we grew up together, it wasn’t even until she said something that I even realized there are…” she trailed off, unsure of how to finish that thought.

“Women like us,” Maura supplied. “Sapphic women.”

“Uh, yeah. That.” Jane felt vaguely uncomfortable with the label even in front of Maura, which was stupid because Maura was the last person she’d ever expect to judge her. Still, there was a part of her that felt the need to justify herself. “I’ve only been here once. Clara just—she said I should come, I didn’t think I was _like_ the women here, I was just… well, Clara thought it was a good idea.”

Maura was looking at her with a fond light in her eyes, or at least what Jane hoped was fondness (it was too dark to be very sure). She leaned in, and Jane half-expected their lips to meet in a kiss, but instead she found herself surrounded by the comforting warmth of Maura’s arms. Resting her chin on Maura’s shoulder, Jane wrapped her arms around Maura, returning the embrace.

There was a tight, funny feeling in Jane’s chest. It was both freeing and frightening, hearing Maura say the word aloud— _Sapphic_. Saying it like that, so openly, was a privilege Jane had always denied herself; she’d never had the language to describe it before, and she still wasn’t sure she wanted to. There was an odd contradiction inside Jane, even now, that made it possible for her to _want_ Maura in ways she had never wanted anyone before and yet hesitate at the thought of assigning those feelings any sort of label. It was one thing for Jane to want Maura in her heart and in her bed; those feelings were private, they belonged to Jane alone. _Sapphic_ was a declaration, and one Jane was not sure she was comfortable with. She didn’t want women. She wanted _Maura._

They stood like that for a few moments, still and quiet, listening to each other’s heartbeats and the muffled sounds of the crowded saloon they had left behind. Maura’s breathing was steady; her arms made Jane feel secure, not stifled the way she would have expected.

The sound of Maura’s voice was soft next to Jane’s ear when she spoke. “You never have to be ashamed of who you are when you’re with me, Jane.”

“Even if I’m not ready to be a Sapphic woman?” She could hear the tremble in her own voice and felt a stab of shame. Jane was glad Maura was holding her like this; it meant she didn’t have to look Maura in the eye and let her see just how vulnerable this made her.

“Even if you’re not ready.”

“I want to be with you, Maura, I really do,” Jane said, feeling like she was screwing everything up despite Maura’s words of reassurance. “I _know_ that. I just don’t know if… I mean, I’ve never been with a woman before.”

Jane was half expecting Maura to laugh, to say, _neither have I._ Had she been with women, Jane wondered? But Maura just pulled Jane in closer and traced soothing circles over her shirt at the base of her spine.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” she said simply, and Jane hated how close to tears she felt upon hearing those words.

Taking a deep breath in, she stepped back and gave Maura a small smile, reaching out for her hand once more. “Alright, then. Let’s go.”

It was a tight fit to keep hold of Maura’s hand down the hallway, especially with the doctor’s voluminous skirts (she was definitely overdressed again, which Jane had just accepted as one of her quirks at this point), but Jane managed it. Taking a final deep breath in, Jane pushed open the door to the Wild Rose.

It was much as she remembered from the last time she’d been there—small and a bit crowded, with women tucked into booths and tables that seemed to cover almost every square foot of the place except a small open area for dancing. A mass of people swayed in time to the music, a haunting melody sung by a tall, dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She looked somber, maybe even bored as she surveyed the room, catching Jane’s eye and giving her a deep nod before resuming her slow onceover of the Wild Rose’s patrons as she sang. Beside her, a blonde with a pixie cut strummed a stringed instrument that Jane didn’t recognize, periodically glancing up at the singer with affection in her eyes.

Jane made a beeline for an open booth in the corner of the room, practically dragging Maura behind her until she collapsed into the wooden seat hard enough to make her wince. Walking through the door, she had felt strangely exposed, as if all eyes were on the spectacle that was her and Maura’s entrance. Here in the corner, Jane was the watcher rather than the watched.

And there was a lot to watch. All around them, women from every walk of life came together in an atmosphere of merriment. There were women dressed in men’s clothing like Jane’s, mingling amongst traditionally feminine women, hair done up and wearing the fancy gowns Maura favored. Young barmaids chattered excitedly among themselves at the edges of the dancefloor, engaged in bashful flirtation; some of the older women sipped cocktails or downed beers at the bar. At tables and in booths, couples chatted, deep in conversation with clasped hands and fond smiles towards one another. A few even kissed on the lips, lost in each other and unafraid of who might see.

Jane hadn’t done much people-watching on her last visit; she’d spent most of the time feeling guilt-stricken and anxious. She wouldn’t call herself relaxed this time, either, but some of the nervousness was abated by the firm pressure of Maura’s fingers giving her hand a reassuring squeeze as the doctor took her seat across from Jane, lifting their intertwined hands to rest them atop the table.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked Maura suddenly, feeling relieved upon seeing Maura’s eager nod.

Hand in hand, Jane and Maura weaved through the tables to the dance floor. All around them, women danced in pairs or groups, clapping their hands and cheering. Jane caught snippets of conversation as they passed by.

“Are you leading or am I?” complained a curly-haired Asian woman to Jane’s right, causing her blonde partner to reply, “I have no idea,” in a lilting, foreign accent. To their left, two girls who couldn’t have been more than teenagers danced shyly on the edge of the crowd, eyes flickering around almost as if they couldn’t believe this place was real; a regal blonde led her younger partner through the steps of a formal dance that seemed hardly fitting for the setting; and a tall, black-haired woman in glasses let out a throaty laugh as a smaller blonde ground against her in a way that made Jane avert her eyes.

Amused and somehow reassured by the realization that none of these women knew what they were doing any more than she did, Jane waded in among the crowd, resting a confident hand on Maura’s waist and feeling a grin overtake her face as she and Maura began to move in time to the music. The singer and musician had struck up a boisterous tune now; the words of the song were in a language foreign to Jane, but the melody reminded her of an old sea shanty, full of vigor.

It was too loud to talk, but she could tell from the glimmer in Maura’s eyes that she was having just as much fun as Jane. They danced like that for a while, Jane stepping back so Maura could do a twirl and collide back into her again. Feeling emboldened, Jane pulled Maura in closer until their bodies were pressed up against each other, closer than could be considered proper even for close female friends. But there was no need to worry about that here. Maybe Clara was onto something with this place after all; Jane could get used to this kind of freedom.

By the time the song ended and the musicians called out that they were taking a quick break, both Jane and Maura were breathless. Smiling at the sight of Maura’s flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled hair, Jane leaned down slightly to press a quick kiss to her lips.

“I’ll get us some drinks?” she asked.

“That would be lovely.”

Spotting Clara behind the bar, Jane found an empty stool and slid in next to a woman who was nursing a glass of some dark liquid, maybe bourbon. “This seat taken?”

The woman turned, fixing Jane with an intense hazel gaze and a sultry smirk on her lips. “Not for you, it isn’t.”

Unsure of how to respond, Jane settled on a noncommittal grunt, then waved, hoping to catch Clara’s eye. Unfortunately, Clara was preoccupied with a group of women at the far end of the bar. It looked like Jane was in for a bit of a wait. She fiddled with the hem of her shirtsleeve, wishing she’d asked Maura to come with her to the bar. Glancing across the room, Jane spotted the doctor talking animatedly with the blonde instrumentalist. One of them had pulled out a journal from somewhere, and Maura looked deep in thought as she pored over something on the page. Trust Maur to find the only other nerd in the place, Jane thought, and couldn’t help but smile.

“So what’s your story?” The voice broke through the pleasant haze of Jane’s thoughts.

It was the brunette in the stool next to hers, slouching artfully against the bar with a sort of practiced nonchalance. There was something almost familiar about her, though Jane couldn’t place her; maybe she’d been here last time and Jane just didn’t recognize her face. Her memories of that night weren’t the clearest, given the amount of whiskey she’d downed afterwards, alone in her boardinghouse room and overwhelmed with some emotion between shame and exhilaration.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, I don’t have much of a story.”

“Everyone has a story. You seem like the type of woman to lead an interesting life.”

There was something about the way she said it that sent Jane right back to her schoolhouse days. She felt flustered, put on the spot, as if there were some specific answer this stranger expected from her that remained frustratingly out of reach.

Was this woman hitting on her? Jane’s brain froze for a second. This was new territory. What was she even supposed to say? She was here with Maura; if she could just make that clear, somehow, then maybe—

The woman laughed, as if the panic were evident on Jane’s face. Maybe it was.

“Come home with me, Jane,” she said, but Jane didn’t have time to respond because Clara had finally caught sight of her and hurried over, and the mystery woman brushed a cold hand across Jane’s shoulder and down her arm, and then, with the alluring-yet-chilling laugh of a femme fatale, she was gone.

“Who was that?” Clara asked with a frown.

“You haven’t seen her before?”

“Nah, don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” Jane said with a shrug. “She was, uh… very _friendly._ ”

“Gotcha.” The blonde grinned, polishing a glass with a rag as she spoke. “So, Janie. Dr. Isles, huh?”

Jane hated the fact that she was blushing at the mere mention of Maura’s name. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good on you,” Clara said approvingly. “I’m glad ya brought her here.”

“You think it was the right decision?”

Clara looked surprised. “’Course, Janie. She’s havin’ a good time. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Jane hated this, the way something inside her just froze up having to even talk about these things. _These things._ She couldn’t even put a word to it in her own thoughts. “What if I’m wrong about all this, Clara?”

Clara was suddenly still, setting down the glass she’d been polishing with a loud _thunk_ that made Jane flinch. Reaching out, she grabbed Jane’s face with one hand, pinching her cheeks like Jane was just a child again.

“I’ve known ya since we were kids, ain’t that right?” Clara’s Southern accent came out strong now, the way it always did when she was especially serious. Jane had been fascinated with it when Clara had first moved to town, fresh off a wagon train out of Georgia and only a few years younger than Jane. Despite all the time since then, the friendship (and the accent) had endured.

When Jane nodded, Clara let go of her face, fixing her with a thoughtful look in her blue eyes. “So I know a thing or two about Jane Rizzoli, I’d say. And, well, I’ve never seen ya so happy lookin’ at anyone else before.”

“Really?” was all Jane could manage, feeling low and pathetic but also somehow reassured.

“Yeah, really. Trust me on this one.”

“Okay,” Jane said, taking in a deep breath and preparing to stride away before she remembered what she’d come up to the bar for in the first place. “Oh. Uh, could I get some beer? Same type we had on Maur’s first night here, if you’ve got it.”

“Sure thing.” Clara had a gleam in her eye, pouring the drinks with the sort of efficiency that only came with many years’ experience. “My, what would my poor ol’ Pop think of where I spend the nights when I ain’t workin’ over at our place?”

“Same as my Ma, I’d expect,” Jane laughed. “No one could’ve guessed where we’d end up.”

Clara reached across the bar to give Jane a fond pat on the shoulder. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Her face broke out into a wide smile. “Now go get the girl, Janie!”

“Thanks, Clara.”

“Come visit soon. And bring that pretty lady of yours with ya again.” Clara winked.

“Will do.” Jane smiled at her old friend, then picked up the two beer tankards and turned back to the bar, scanning the room for Maura. Her eyes picked out the doctor standing around a table with some of the bar’s other patrons, watching a card game. She chuckled. Knowing Maura, she was probably talking the nearest card player’s ear off about strategies and probabilities and all sorts of things like that. Maura looked up as she approached, smiling with the sort of wide-eyed excitement that Jane always found endearing.

“Careful, Maur. If you smile any wider, you’re gonna split your face right in half.”

“Technically, Jane, that is anatomically impossible.”

Jane rolled her eyes, handing her the beer. “Shut up and drink.”

“Careful. If you roll your eyes any harder, they’ll pop out of your skull.”

Jane couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected comment. “Maura Isles, making a scientifically inaccurate joke? What sideways dreamland have I fallen into now?”

Maura gave her a sly, knowing grin before taking a sip of beer; Jane was pleased to notice that the doctor didn’t cringe at the flavor anymore the way she had in the beginning. This California life suited Maura, Jane thought, although she recognized she might be a bit biased.

“What’d you get up to while I was gone?” Jane asked, taking a swig of her own drink. “I saw you talking to the woman who was playing that… whatever it was.”

“A lyre,” Maura informed her immediately. “It’s a multi-stringed instrument that originated in ancient Greece, not often played in modernity.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s a fascinating instrument. I asked her where she’d learnt to play,” Maura explained, “and we got to talking a bit. She said she and her partner were just passing through and offered to provide entertainment tonight in exchange for a place to stay. And then she said she’s a writer, so of course we had that in common. Although her specialty is poetry, and I’m rather more attracted to the novel as a literary form.”

“You write?” It shouldn’t have come as a surprise—there were lots of things she didn’t know about Maura, after all—but Jane found herself impressed all over again. There really wasn’t anything Maura couldn’t do.

“A bit.” Maura shrugged, almost self-consciously. “It’s a hobby, really. Nothing serious.”

“Maybe I could read something of yours sometime.”

“Maybe,” Maura said noncommittally, and Jane was just about to ask her more about her work when a shout broke out at the card table.

Jane’s hand flew immediately to her pistol, but she relaxed once she realized the commotion was a friendly one. Years of working in law enforcement meant she was jaded, willing to react to the slightest provocation. All too often, what should have been a friendly competition turned to a deadly saloon shoot-out when alcohol and hot tempers were added to the mix.

“You can’t do that, that’s cheating!” one of the players complained, running a hand through a bushy tangle of dirty-blonde hair that reminded Jane of a lion’s mane.

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” challenged the brunette sitting to her left, a prim smile gracing her bright red lips. The blonde reached out and elbowed her, causing the brunette to pout. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Careful, kid, or I’m gonna call the sheriff and get him to throw you back into lock-up for a few nights. Didn’t really enjoy our last stay there, if I remember correctly.” She slapped down her hand on the table. “Full house. _And_ I didn’t cheat.”

The brunette huffed. “You just got lucky this time.”

“Shut up and play your cards,” the blonde said affectionately, before capturing her partner’s lips in a deep kiss that caused Jane to clear her throat and look away.

“Do you know how to play poker?” Jane asked Maura conversationally, averting her eyes and making a blind gesture at the table, almost sloshing beer down the neck of the player who sat closest to them in the process. _Shit._

Maura shrugged. “I’ve picked up most of the rules while spectating. Maybe you could teach me sometime.”

“Sure.”

Jane had grown up playing poker; her father had taught her. They’d all used to play, Pop and Jane and her brothers, on those long winter nights when it was too cold to do anything outside. Jane had always been good—better than Tommy and Frankie, and before long, better than her father, too. Before he’d run off to San Francisco to have his fun in the gambling parlors and brothels there, of course.

“You know, I _have_ heard about an interesting variation on the game,” Maura commented, and Jane wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw the doctor’s cheeks go red.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Maura nodded, then leaned in close, her breath warm against Jane’s cheek as she whispered, “Have you ever heard of strip poker? I was thinking we could try it. It’s quite similar to the traditional game, except—”

“ _Maura_ ,” was all Jane could say, cutting her off before she could get any further, in a scandalized tone that immediately reminded Jane so much of her own mother that she cringed at herself.

“Is that a no?”

“Y-yeah—I mean, no, it’s not a no,” Jane stammered, cheeks getting hotter by the second, “but _wow_ , Maur, you can’t just go and _say_ things like that!”

Maura had a satisfied little smirk on her lips. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t, if it yields a reaction like that.”

“Yields a—yields a _reaction_?” Jane’s brain still wasn’t quite processing at a normal speed. “You can’t do experiments on people, I’m not a science experiment!”

“On the contrary, human behavioral studies are quite fascinating,” said Maura matter-of-factly, “although I’ll admit I have ulterior motives when you are the one serving as my test subject.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jane said, trying to sound flirtatious but mostly just sounding out-of-breath. “And what kind of motives are those?”

“I think they’re the sort of motives one should show instead of tell.”

That was all Jane needed to hear. “Do you, uh… maybe wanna head back to our room?”

*

It took approximately two seconds after the time the door had swung shut for Jane to lean in and claim Maura’s lips with her own. If she’d thought the ride to Aurora had been long, well, the walk back from the Wild Rose had felt even longer. It was like time had slowed down to a snail’s pace. Or maybe Jane was just an impatient sort of person.

She pushed Maura back against the door, feeling a warm burn in the pit of her stomach at the moan that issued from Maura’s lips in response. Unfortunately, Maura’s bulky skirts meant that there wasn’t a whole lot of exposed skin for Jane to touch, so she made do with running her fingers through the wisps of hair at the top of Maura’s neck, her other hand splayed across the cool wood of the door. Maura’s hands had initially been resting at Jane’s waist, but as Jane deepened the kiss, one of her hands began to drift distractingly lower. For a moment, Jane stilled, breaking the kiss to draw in a shuddering breath that caused Maura to open her eyes in concern.

“Is this alright?”

Jane nodded. It was so much better than just _alright_ , but she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to say that out loud, so she decided to let her actions speak for her. Leaning in again, she left a trail of light kisses down the side of Maura’s neck, pleased at the little hum of pleasure that left Maura’s mouth at the sensation. Her right hand was still tangled in Maura’s hair; Jane trailed her left down the back of Maura’s neck, feeling around for the laces of her corset underneath her dress. Maura shifted her weight off the door, trying to give Jane more room to maneuver, but after a moment they had to admit defeat.

“I’m no match for your damn corset,” Jane grumbled, and Maura laughed.

“Maybe we should take this to the bed,” she said gently, which sent an instant jab of _something_ —excitement? anxiety? both?—all along Jane’s nerves.

They sat on the edge of the bed together in silence as Maura unbuttoned the front of her bodice, revealing the corset beneath. She smiled at Jane, looking so calm and unafraid that Jane felt ashamed of her inexperience for a moment before she remembered this was _Maura._ Kind-hearted, gentle, wonderful Maura, who would never laugh at her or intentionally make her feel bad about anything. Jane took a deep breath as Maura turned her back to her, then began unlacing the corset with shaking fingers. Thank god Maura had had her do this so many times before. Her hands were trembling so much she doubted she’d have been able to do it without the practice.

And then it was unlaced. Jane hesitated, her fingers just barely brushing over Maura’s bare skin in the gap between the two sides of the undergarment.

“I feel like I’m supposed to say something smooth now.”

Maura turned back toward her. “You don’t have to say anything unless you want to. And we don’t have to do this unless you want to.”

“I want to.” However awkward and vulnerable and inept Jane felt, she _knew_ this was what she wanted. It was what she’d wanted for some time now, even if it seemed overwhelming in the moment.

“Kiss me again?” Maura said it like a question, seeming to sense the discomfort Jane had hesitated to voice aloud.

Kissing, at least, was something Jane could manage. It was funny how natural it felt now, kissing Maura; it already seemed that they fit together in a way Jane had never fit with any of her past partners. Feeling a little bolder, she let her hands wander over the exposed skin at the small of Maura’s back, though she didn’t dare venture any further north or south of that.

Jane didn’t know how it happened—one moment they were sitting up on the edge of the bed, side by side, and the next moment Maura was laying back and Jane was straddling her hips. The corset, thankfully, was loose but still protecting Maura’s modesty; Jane might have combusted had Maura taken it off completely. Maura’s hands gripped at Jane’s waist, and Jane leaned down to kiss her neck again, and then—

“What’s this?” Maura asked, confused, as something dropped out of Jane’s shirt pocket and onto the bed.

“Huh?” Jane was a little preoccupied with other things, her head buried in the crook of Maura’s neck. “Doesn’t matter, Maur, whatever it is, I’ll deal with it later.”

“Jane.” Maura’s tone was urgent now, and she sat up, causing Jane to flail and climb off of her lap, bewildered and feeling as though she’d been rejected. “This isn’t yours, is it?”

Jane frowned, looking at the object that Maura was holding out to her. It was a dagger, which in itself was not out of the ordinary; what _was_ out of the ordinary, however, was the fact that it was covered in—

“Blood,” Jane said numbly, taking it from Maura’s hand. Even Maura couldn’t argue with that assessment; she just sat, stunned into stillness along with Jane.

“It must have fallen out of your pocket,” Maura said after a long silence.

“Well, yeah, but it’s not mine.” She recognized it, though she didn’t say so aloud. Maura didn’t need to know the image that came to Jane’s mind: the handle of this very same dagger, slick with Jane’s own blood and protruding from the palm of her hand. Seven notches were carved into the wooden handle; it was only because of Korsak that there wasn’t an eighth representing Jane.

They’d never found those daggers at the crime scene, though Frost had returned to look for them. He’d come to tell her the next day when her mind had come out of the shock of that night, his eyes full of compassion and sorrow. _I’m sorry, Jane. Our priority was making sure you and Sheriff Korsak made it out okay._

Jane’s words were more to herself than to Maura, mumbled under her breath. “How did I not notice it earlier?”

“Well,” Maura said, cheeks coloring slightly, “I _was_ distracting you.”

“I still should’ve noticed.” Jane stood and paced toward the door, feeling suddenly as though their room, which had before seemed so cozy, was a cage closing in on her. “I’m better than this, Maur, I should’ve noticed someone getting close enough to slip something into my pocket.”

“Lots of people were close to us all night,” Maura pointed out, but even her (admittedly logical) observation didn’t bring Jane any comfort. “Any one of them could’ve planted it. Were you carrying anything else in that pocket? Something valuable, maybe?”

Jane reached into the pocket in question; her fingers connected with a piece of paper, stained reddish-brown with the remnants of drying blood. She cursed. “How much do you wanna bet it’s another one of those damn threats?”

Cursive writing, the same feminine script as the last note. _Did you forget about me, Jane? Well, I suppose you can’t help that. We’re all mad here._

“God, I fucking hate it when I’m right,” Jane muttered under her breath.

“‘We’re all mad here?’” Maura repeated. “Is that what it says, word for word?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a quote. _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ , by Lewis Carroll. It’s a children’s book, published five years ago.”

“And?” Jane hoped Maura had a point and that this wasn’t one of her tangents.

“You said last time that the teacup was one of Hoyt’s symbols.” When Jane nodded, Maura continued. “I don’t claim to remember everything that happens in the book, but I believe the Cheshire Cat says that quote to Alice before she attends the Mad Tea Party.”

Though Jane was sure there was more to the story than that, she didn’t need to hear any more. She still wasn’t sure how the missing girls or the ice picks fit into this, but the connection to Hoyt was clear. Whatever game he was playing, she refused to take part in it. There was only one solution; Jane had been putting it off for months now, and truth be told, she still didn’t feel ready. She doubted she ever would. But there was no other choice.

“I’m sorry to cut our weekend short, Maur, but I think we need to head back early.” Jane didn’t realize she’d been biting her lip until she tasted the iron tang of blood on her tongue. “I need to talk to Hoyt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY GUYS. I promise they'll get it on eventually, we just have some more actual plot to get through before we get to that.  
> This chapter has been brought to you by Kacey Musgraves' "Butterflies," which I listened to on repeat while writing, and "Closer" by Tegan and Sara, because mood. Also "Gold Dust Woman" by Fleetwood Mac because I needed some ~ambiance~ for the Bandits' Den/Wild Rose.  
> Also also, I included a bunch of vague cameos in this chapter just for fun. So I challenge y'all to guess the other femslash ships if you feel like it.


End file.
